A New Morning
by mintyblues
Summary: "She doesn't belong to me," Draco reminded himself. In the midst of this war, he knew better than to trust his childhood nemesis' wife, but it didn't matter now... "Right now, I have her, and she has me."
1. The Departed

**Rating: **T for occasional language, suggestive scenes, war violence and themes of adultery.  
**Structure: **Introduction (Ch.1-3); Part I: _Right love wrong time _(Ch.4-23); Interlude (Ch.24-25); Part II: _Redemption_ (Ch.26-Present)

**Author's notes:** I've always wanted to write about Draco and Hermione in a post-Hogwarts setting! Enjoy.

* * *

_A New Morning_

by mintyblues

**Chapter One: The Departed**

* * *

_"Would it be a wrong time to love, if loving her changed me for the better?" _- Draco Malfoy

Her dress was soaked. Somehow, after sitting there for so long in the rain, she didn't feel the cold anymore. Maybe the way the fabric was sticking onto her skin kept her warm. Maybe she had just been there for so long—so long that she didn't even remember when he'd left her—she was too numb to feel the cold. She wasn't even quite sure if she was crying anymore. The rain kept getting into her eyes. She could hardly see his gravestone. But all she had to do was just close her eyes—

_"__We gather here today for the departed..." _

Father was speaking for him.

_"He was a good man," _Someone sniffed beside her. _I know_, she said quietly. _He was a wonderful man. We were happy, so happy._

_"__He was the hero of our time. A man forever to be remembered…"_

_Yes, and he died for it. So what is that to me now that he's gone?_

Her mind wandered back to that fateful night again, a sharp pain she'd revisited countless times now.

A wide, devastated graveyard. Death Eaters and You-Know-Who himself, closing in on them. She was mortified, but he was standing tall, determined to destroy the enemy even if it meant he would die for it.

_"__AVADA KEDAVRA."_

_NO._

She shut her eyes reflexively, and she'd condemned herself for that moment of cowardice ever since. _"This is it,"_ she had thought. This was the day she'd die. Then there was an explosion and she was blast away with a heavy weight hitting her like a ton of bricks, collapsing over her. Someone was screaming. It wasn't her own voice. And when she opened her eyes, she realized she was still alive, but he was lying over her. And he was dead. She'd hardly noticed that the spell rebounded on the Dark Lord and killed Him, too. The Death Eaters were fleeing. Her husband became a hero. But he was dead—

She knew she was crying now. Even though the rain was still running into her eyes, they stung now even more. She didn't mind it. In her state of mind, she barely made note of it. The past days, the past weeks, she had been sitting there and thinking about him, hurting, imagining what it would be like to be with him now. If he had survived. If they'd both lived through the end of this horrible war.

_But he's gone._

It was like she was trying so hard to keep her head grounded in reality, reminding herself that he wouldn't come back anymore. So she was here, staring at his name, staring at the year of his death. 2004. It sounded wrong, sounded too recent. All those names on gravestones, all those years, they were so foreign, so ancient. But this one, the only one that meant anything to her, was so close, so real. She wiped off the leaves that were already collecting at the feet of his grave, and looked up again at the gracefully carved words on his gravestone. That was all that was left of him: a name on a gravestone. To her, those words meant nothing but what people refer to as "The Hero". She missed the smile he gave her. She missed the way he felt warm, laying next to her. She was cold now. She was alone now. She had just begun to get her act together and make their marriage better, but it was his time to go.

_God knows it can't be that easy._

She felt light-headed. The more she thought about the many happy moments she had with him, the more they faded into the dark. She felt cold inside. As if each memory were a soft warm candlelight, the pouring rain was draining them out, one by one. Her dress felt heavier, and heavier. It held her heart down, like it was gravity itself.

Someone was shuffling through the long grasses towards her. She heard the footsteps, but she didn't turn. It had been a while since anyone came by, to try and convince her to leave. _"Go home, Hermione,"_ they said. _"Poor woman," _they said. But she always said nothing, and stayed. They eventually went away. Whoever this was, they would surely go away too, soon enough. Leave her alone. Let her mourn over her lost. The rain was beating hard on the ground. It was almost painful.

"Hermione."

The voice was familiar. A man that she knew. Not Ron though, who had come many times before. She wasn't quite sure who it was. Still, she did not turn.

"It's cold out here," he spoke again. His voice was calm, and firm, but there was such sadness in it. Such a familiar voice, yet from so long ago. Who was it?

She still said nothing.

After a long silence, long enough that Hermione assumed he'd left, he spoke again, quietly.

"You said you wanted to make him happy. He wouldn't be happy to see you like this."

A chill ran up her spine. She _knew_ that voice.

"I beg of you, Hermione, come with me. You're getting sick..." She felt him gripping her shoulders, with both hands. He practically pulled her off the ground. Yet he did it so gently, as if she were a light feather. She didn't understand. Her dress felt so heavy on her. How did he...?

She looked up at his face. It was all a blur. The rain was getting into her eyes, she thought. But it wasn't the rain. The headache got worse as she tried to look at him.

"Come on, hold on to me." There was anxiety in his voice. Frustration. He tried to make her stand, but she didn't have any strength in her legs. He kept her upright. She felt the need to get out of his arms.

"I... I don't need help," she breathed, trying to push him away. But she could barely raise her arm high enough to, and she fell as she tried to get away from him. He caught her in his arms, tightly this time. And she fainted, falling into a deep sleep.

He stood there for a moment, looking into the face of the woman that he once knew. It saddened him to see her like this. There was no doubt that she was strong. She had always been. But comparing that person he once knew to the one in his arms, he knew that she needed help, even if she wouldn't agree. So he picked her up and walked into the dark, towards the city lights, away from the gravestone that she had watched day and night. The rain continued to pour. Leaves fell and stuck onto the dripping gravestone. And the carvings read the name of the departed.

_In Memory of__  
__Harry James Potter__  
__Beloved Husband and Hero__  
__31-7-1980 — 21-2-2004_

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**Author's notes: **Chapters will be much longer after the 3-chapter introduction! And yes, yes, I know, Hermione should be married to Ron in canon, but I hope you'll come to see why it had to be Harry in this story. I also wanted Ron's explosive jealousy to play less of a role here, but you'll see him getting pissed eventually, and I'll be looking forward to writing that part ;)

Do leave comments!

- M.


	2. Dreaming of Hogwarts

_"He was such an arrogant git. Really, I couldn't explain why I was attracted to him. At all! I guess it bothered me that much, that I didn't understand this boy that I had to see every. single. day. Draco was already the embodiment of fascinating contradictions back then."_

- Hermione Potter née Granger

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**Chapter Two: Dreaming of Hogwarts**

* * *

In her comatose state, Hermione had a dream. A dream of the long gone past—

She should have known better than to peek into someone else's living quarters without permission, but curiosity got the better of her. He'd never been so careless before, leaving his bedroom door unlocked like this. _"How does the pompous prat keep his bedroom?"_ she wondered. _Immaculate like the way he dressed? Messy like that of a regular teenage boy?_ She was just about to give the door a light push, when a distrustfully cold voice stopped her in her tracks.

"_I'm pretty sure you know the school rules, Head Girl."_

Hermione Granger, Head Girl for three months now, spun around guiltily to face the owner of that voice. Her face turned red, when she found herself staring at the full frontal view of Draco Malfoy's bare chest. He must have just returned from the shower room, water was still dripping from his front bangs. She cursed the towel wrapped around his waist. For a brief moment, Hermione had thought that the toned Quidditch player was completely and utterly naked. The fabric was a conspicuous shade of beige that resembled his natural skin tone. There was more than enough skin, regardless. The Slytherin boy was seventeen and only beginning to shed his adolescent figure, but he was already showing plenty of promise to grow into a fine-looking young man.

She had to admit that she liked what she saw, and Malfoy had an irresistibly confident aura to match. Cocky, really, but attractive nonetheless. She would have stared longer, except the pinprick was smirking at her now, his earlier frown completely wiped off his face.

_"Didn't think the snotty, prudish Granger would stare at me so openly,"_he purred.

She couldn't have blushed more. _"You're so full of yourself,"_ she said quickly, looking away. It sounded too weak and unsure.

Malfoy snickered and adjusted the towel around his waist, _"I know what I saw, Granger."_

_"And I know what I like,"_ Hermione countered, visibly raising an eyebrow with a mock expression of distaste. _"You're too pale for my tastes."_

Malfoy laughed then.

_"I'd like to think that Quidditch has given me a nice tan in the last few years, no?"_

He took her bait easily. Maybe just a little too easily.

_"You take my words at face value,"_ Hermione responded with a small grin, _"I'd notice your apparently gorgeous tan if you were more impressionable as a human being."_

Malfoy only smirked at her play of words. He didn't even bother throwing a witty insult back at her. It was infuriating, how he was so sure of himself. Hermione knew he thought he was being gracious, since nothing could take away from the wide-eyed look she had already given him, when she first turned around.

She was still avoiding his open gaze after all.

And Draco enjoyed flaunting his bare skin at her. Her embarrassment was his greatest amusement. There weren't many girls that'd get embarrassed like she did among the seventh years. He'd walk around half-naked more often if it'd make her blush like this.

_"Honestly,"_ he laughed a little, _"you're seventeen already, Granger. Could it be possible that you haven't seen naked men before?"_

He liked to say her name with almost every sentence. Hermione couldn't decide whether she liked it, but she certainly liked throwing it back at him.

_"Get it right, _Malfoy. _I'm eighteen. And to answer your question: Yes, I have. Thank you for your concern."_ She was older than him, but she attended Hogwarts with their year group because she was born in September.

Draco didn't seem interested in the details however. Thinking of their age made him frown. It reminded him of something that bothered him, something at home that was coming up.

_"Well I would be pleased if you would get out of the way, and let me into my own room," _he said. Pushing her aside rather brashly, he closed his door with a slam. The sudden change in attitude left Hermione feeling rather surprised.

_What is it with him?_ She didn't understand. Sometimes, before she knew what was going on, their friendly banter would turn into an angry exchange of acid remarks. The only relief was that his bad temper was always brief, unlike Ron's prolonged tantrums that could strain his friendships terribly. She might even dare to say, in fact, that she found the Slytherin to be relatively tolerable. On an occasional weekend, she might even prefer him as company to her hot-tempered friend.

It certainly helped that Malfoy had been curiously friendly and approachable of late. Hermione noticed it the first time when she was struggling over a particular complicated Potions problem set, just a month ago or so. She hadn't even murmured defeat, when he came across their common study room to her desk.

_"You've had an ugly frown on your forehead for the past hour, Granger. It's beginning to really get on my nerves,"_ Malfoy had said, dropping his Potions textbook next to her with a thud. Astonished, she had glanced at the elegantly written solution on his scrolls and looked up at him with sheer curiosity. He just sneered.

_"I thought you'd appreciate some help, and keep your pretty face instead."_

Again, she couldn't tell if it was an insult or a rare compliment. Intriguingly though, working on Slughorn's problem sets together became their routine since then. It was rather refreshing, consider how she'd become so used to Harry and Ron copying off of her hours of hard work. That was not to say that Malfoy didn't still take every opportunity to mock her, that time apparently for writing down "stupid, misguided solutions". But so long as he stayed clear of his racist insults, she didn't mind his bad mouth too much anymore. His friendship during those precious hours was enough of a pleasant surprise.

Besides, Potions was the only class that he actually had a better grasp on than she did. Hermione Granger always enjoyed a good intellectual challenge.

She liked him.

It was a growing fact that she was still trying to grapple with.

Walking back into her bedroom, Hermione went to open the window and let the wind in. For a teenage woman that hadn't had a boyfriend for a while, Draco Malfoy's naked chest had been quite a sight.

She stepped out onto the small ledge outside, closing her eyes and trying to rid of the lustful thoughts on her mind. She had to admit that Malfoy's looks played a part in her growing crush, but she contended it was more than that. In some twisted sense, she could somehow relate to Draco Malfoy and his display of arrogance. She loved Harry and Ron to bits, but a part of her never forgot how they had, along with everyone else, once mocked her for her uncontrollable desire to prove herself in class. She'd toned it down a notch since, realizing some of it had to do with the insecurity of being a muggle-born witch, but she still remembered how eager she'd been once.

And there was something about Malfoy, too, that spoke of doubts hiding behind that overbearingly confident mask. A human side that he just hadn't opened up for her to see. On several occasions, Hermione even suspected that Malfoy was only genuinely unkind to her when his thoughts returned to his family and Voldemort. But she wouldn't know for sure; he never spoke about anything private beyond his school life.

She wished he did sometimes. Other times, she was a little scared to know.

Glancing at the room adjacent to hers, which belonged to Malfoy, she noticed that the windows were open as well. His room was personalized to his tastes, with windows running from the ceiling down to the floor, and a balcony made of ivory that faced the Great Lake below. It matched him, just like how Hermione's little rooftop nook was perfect for her to sit in and read on in the afternoon sunshine. The thin curtains underneath his green drapes were moving in the wind, spilling out onto his balcony like fluttering white wings, and in between the floating fabric, Hermione thought she saw him looking through his wardrobe.

He was.

And only in his boxers.

She could feel the flush in her cheeks again as she shyly looked away. Why on Earth was he capable of being so unassumingly provocative? She didn't know what he would have said, if he'd seen her sitting there, staring at him again. He'd probably just smirk, and look at her the way he always did when he was teasing her: a long glance from head to toe, as if to return the favor. Hermione chuckled at the thought and crawled back into her room. It was time to get back to her desk to do her homework—

_So simple, it was. So foolishly childish._

_But it felt good, and I remember it well—a simple crush. He might have even liked me back, but I never tried to show it. Why?_

And the reason spilled into her mind, a memory recalled with such force that it hurt like someone had suddenly peeled off a nearly healed scab.

_"—You know this is entirely your fault," _Malfoy muttered through gritted teeth.

_"We're just doing our duty," _Hermione responded teasingly, a finger firmly planted on the student directory as she wrote down the name onto her scroll_._ _Hamilton Hollow,_ she wrote with a sigh. The boy had broken the water pipes in the third-floor girl's bathroom for the fifth time now, flooding the corridors and leaving Moaning Myrtle cursing. As much as Hermione hated the idea of detention, it was time to put the mischievous brat on the list for Filch.

Malfoy only grumbled vaguely in response, so Hermione reminded him, _"You know we haven't sorted out these files like we promised we would last term, right?"_

_"Yes," _he answered derisively, as if she had just insulted his intelligence, _"but what is this business with reminding McGonagall?" _He briefly flung his quill into the ink pot, fuming at her. _"Now she's all over us—wait, no, she's all over _ME_," _he pointed at himself, _"since you're her favorite pet, and she still suspects that I'm not capable of being Head Boy!"_

Hermione had to look at him with an eyebrow raised. She'd never seen Malfoy this furious over something so trivial, not in many years anyway, and he was particularly edgy tonight. She noticed something else, too, as he picked up his quill again to write. He was squeezing his right arm tightly with his off hand.

"_Well,"_ she said with an enduring smile, _"Dumbledore still thought you were the right candidate."_

Somehow she'd managed to be sarcastic without even trying. Malfoy grunted at her attempt to save the situation, of course. He hated to think that the Headmaster actually thought of him highly. Malfoy didn't think of him the same. His grip on his right arm tightened visibly when he flipped through the directory. His movements were careless, rough. At some point, he reached into his robes and began scratching the same spot that he was gripping. Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"_Malfoy, what is wrong with your—"_

"Ugh,_"_ he groaned through his teeth as he spilt ink onto his scroll, smudging quite a few of the names he had just written down, _"UGH, I HATE THIS!" _he cried out, very nearly tearing the scroll at his desk apart.

Hermione stood from her desk in alarm. Writing names off a directory cannot be this frustrating.

_"Malfoy, what's wrong?"_

"_Nothing!" _he snapped, dipping his pen into the ink pot again to rewrite the ones he'd just messed up.

But Hermione didn't back off.

_"Are you sure? What's up with your—" _She touched the arm he was gripping so hard.

"_Get your hands off me," _he said coldly, flinging her hand away from him, and, in the process, spilling more ink onto the scroll.

"_Dammit..."_

_"I'm sorry..."_ Hermione apologized as she looked down at the mess that they'd made, but she was more concerned about him.

_"But really," _she began again. This time, before he could protest, she'd grabbed his robe and flipped it away to reveal his sleeve, _"Were you bitten earlier today in Herbology? Those things are quite deadly, you know. Professor Sprouts said—"_

"_No, NO!" _he shouted and pulled back, but it was too late. She had already held onto his shirt. And with his violent backing away, the sleeve tore with a sharp sound. Hermione's eyes went wide in horror. Tattooed onto his inflamed forearm was a skull in black ink, grinning evilly back at her. It was fairly obvious that he had just received it.

"_Malfoy..."_

It was all that would come out. She didn't know what to say. He fixed his robe in place and stood up, obviously incensed.

"_Why do you have to be so—"_

Malfoy didn't finish his sentence; he looked like he didn't quite know what to say either. Instead, he threw his quill onto the desk, flung his robes over his shoulder and stormed out of the room.

For a long while, Hermione sat there, speechless and shellshocked. She had heard his footsteps as they disappeared around the corner, but she didn't fully comprehend that he'd left the room already. The skull was still grinning at her, laughing at her, mocking her. Staring down at the paperwork that they had been working on, she felt like she was the spilt ink, ruining everything.

It wasn't all her fault, she understood that perfectly well. He had taken a stance. A stance that she couldn't possibly condone. It was simply impossible. And he couldn't have hidden it from her forever either. But still... still... what? There was nothing left to say.

Without even seeing him again the next day, she already knew. Draco Malfoy wouldn't speak to her as a friend anymore.


	3. New morning

_Do you remember the things we used to say?__  
__I feel so nervous when I think of yesterday__  
__How could I let things get to me so bad?__  
__How did I let things get to me?_

_Like dying in the sun__  
__Like dying in the sun__  
__Like dying_

_Will you hold on to me? I am feeling frail__  
__Will you hold on to me, we will never fail__  
__I wanted to be so perfect you see__  
__I wanted to be so perfect_

_- Dying in the Sun_, The Cranberries

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**Chapter Three: New morning**

* * *

She opened her eyes. Soft sunlight gently swept over her face. It was comfortable. She didn't remember being comfortable since—since so long ago. In the back of her mind, she thought she could still hear the rain, pouring onto her, making sharp little sounds as the million raindrops touched the ground. The sunshine felt warm on her skin, but she still felt cold inside. The nausea had faded but stayed the hollowness that filled her up since that night, when she held a motionless Harry in her arms, and cried.

He really was gone, wasn't he? A few months have gone by since his funeral, she remembered, but months were nothing to adjust to a life without the man that she grew up with, grew fond of, and married eventually. She refused to go back to their home. If she ever did, the visits were short and quick. There was something about being at home that left her lonelier than she already was. Maybe it was the extra space she didn't need, maybe it was the memories that came back to her when she saw the smallest things that belonged to him. She missed him, but she never said it out loud. Any words trying to express her feelings seemed too cheap. They didn't reflect her feelings fully. So she kept her silence, mourning on her own. She gave no one a chance to coax her away from Harry's grave, and they gave up when they decided that no words really reached her heart. So why now? Why this time?

_"I thought you said you wanted to make him happy. He wouldn't be happy to see you like this."_

It was a very specific memory. The time that she had said those words, and to one person only. Something stopped her from remembering how it happened. Why did she say it? Who was he? Her headache seemed to be returning. _And where am I now?_

Realizing suddenly that she was not where she was before she fainted, she tried to get up. She found herself gripping onto silky white sheets as she tried to do so. Hermione sat up in confusion. The luxury of this bed was unfamiliar. She surveyed the room, and it was very grand indeed, but fairly simple too. Forest green drapes hung from the ceiling, covering the edges of the bed she was sitting on. They were pulled up onto the sides now, allowing the sun to pour in. The bed was in the middle of the room against the wall with the window. The large window was on her left, and there was a working desk in front of it. Some paperwork was spread across the table, with books stacked up. They were business related: real estate stocks, land use strategies—they all seemed to be well read into. The page corners were rough and crimped. On the right side of the room was a large wardrobe embedded into the wall, and the door that led into the personal bathroom—

She knew the room, she realized. She had been here before. It was all too surreal. She sank into the fluffed up pillow on her back, more confused than ever before.

_No, it can't be. Someone quite wealthy, who happened to come by when I fainted, probably picked me up and took me kindly into their house, and—_

The bathroom door opened suddenly. Steam began pouring into the room. Draco Malfoy walked out, rubbing water off his rather long blonde hair with a towel. He was in a dark green bathrobe, with the waistband loosely tied around his hip. Looking rather surprised to see Hermione awake and staring back at him, an awkward silence passed between them. Hermione felt like squirming into the blankets, just to hide from the fact that she was indeed in his room, as she had thought.

He was the first to break the ice.

"Slept well?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to reply. She just nodded. He walked up to her, which made her anxious, and when he reached out to touch her face, she nearly pulled away. She felt her cheeks getting hot at his touch, her eyes not being able to leave his eyes. He was just checking her temperature.

"You don't seem to have a fever anymore, which is good," he said, after a moment of thought. He touched his own forehead and nodded to himself.

"Yeah... I don't think you do."

"I had a fever?"

She closed her mouth immediately after she asked. Having not spoken for so long, her own voice sounded so loud to her.

Malfoy smiled then, for the first time since he'd entered the room. It was such a kind smile. Nothing like those arrogant smirks he used to give her in school. His light grey eyes seemed to gleam slightly when he bent down and sat next to her. She hadn't seen him for a really long time. Last night, she didn't see him clearly at all. His presence in her presence was bizarre.

"You were pretty bad last night," he answered gently, "burning up and all. I hope you'd excuse me. I had to undress and bathe you, because your clothes were totally drenched and you were freezing—"

He saw the shocked look on her face and quickly apologized, "I'm sorry! If I had the choice, I wouldn't have done it without asking... But Symon—he's rather too small to do the job. Not that it would be fine if he did it either... But, yes, I apologize..."

She blushed deeply. He looked away for a moment before turning to look at her again. _You still looked beautiful like I remembered you_, the words nearly slipped out of his mouth. He swallowed it down instead, at least for now.

For a while, they both looked uncertain as to what to say, or do. Hermione looked down at her hands and fumbled her thumbs. It had been a long time since they've actually sat down and talked like this. When was last?

"—_You chose what you had to choose. I understand."_

_She thought she saw a tear in his eye, but she wasn't sure. She had tears in hers. Her voice was trembling—_

"Sir?" a squeaky voice at the door brought her back form her trance.

Hermione looked up to see a house elf poking his head out from the foot of the door. He was about 30 centimeters tall, and had pale green skin and the characteristic disk-sized eyeballs of the regular house elf. There was a terrified look on his face–if Hermione can read an expression from it at all. The only emotions she had learned to read from house elves were fear and joy–those are the extremes. In general, house elves kept their emotions to themselves. They rarely showed emotions on their faces anyway. They preferred showing them with their actions instead.

"Symon," Hermione gasped.

Symon looked up at her with surprise.

"Mistress Hermione... you remember Symon's name?"

Hermione smiled. House elves always spoke the way he did, always grateful for every little thing human beings did. It saddened her, but it also made them approachable. Symon was particularly sweet, she remembered that much.

"Would you like some breakfast, Sir? And Mistress Hermione?" Symon asked, turning to his master and glancing back at Hermione again.

There was something different about Symon that she began to notice. Instead of the usual rags house elves wore, and Symon once wore, he was wearing a nice outfit that fit his size. It almost looked like it was made-to-fit.

"Yes, that'll be good. Will you bring us tea as well?" Draco requested, "Thank you."

Hermione couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

_Did he just thank Symon?_

The young house elf nodded. He looked happy. And then, with a poof, he disapparated.

Hermione turned to Draco the moment Symon was gone. She hoped with all her heart that he was going to tell her what she began to guess that he had done. In her animated state, she nearly forgot how strange it was for her to be here in the Malfoy Manor again.

"Draco, please tell me you actually—"

"Hired him, indeed. Immediately after I confirmed the Dark Lord was dead and gone," he completed her sentence for her, that trademark smirk of his now returning to his face.

It was unbelievable. He actually remembered her advice, from years ago. Symon had replaced Dobby as the Malfoy family's house elf many years ago. After Lucius Malfoy's untimely death during the last war, Narcissa moved into the countryside, and Draco was the only person left in the Manor. Hermione couldn't resist suggesting him to let the house elf free. She tried to convince him to at least hire Symon, instead of enslaving him. And now, Draco had just admitted that he had done exactly that.

"I can't believe you really did it. God..." she held her forehead in shock. Draco instead took her hands and held them in his.

"I had to wait until now," he explained as he held her hand softly, "I didn't want Him to know I was influenced by you."

She nodded, she understood. And they came back to her; her suppressed memories from two years ago spilt into her consciousness. Her research. Sullivan. Her job. Symon. Harry. Their marriage. And Draco, Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**Author's notes: **That was a short introduction. Next is Part I, the first half of the story. Hope you like it so far! - M.


	4. PART I: Hermione's mission two years ago

**_Part I_**

**Chapter Four: Hermione's mission two years ago**

* * *

"You're asking my wife to_ WHORE_ herself out to _DRACO MALFOY_?!"

Hermione winched as she remembered her husband's outburst earlier that day in a meeting with their boss. _Whore_, Harry had said. The word stung. Was that what her mission was about?

Even over half a day since then, the scene still played out in her head clearly.

Sullivan, head of their department, sitting deeply into his tall leathered seat at his desk. Harry and her, originally sitting calmly across from their commander-in-chief, waiting to be briefed about Hermione's latest project.

Harry soon lost his composure though, half an hour into the conversation. It was an understandably absurd order to digest, however. Hermione had wondered how Ron would've reacted if he were in the room too. Probably smacked Sullivan across the head with his brothers' vintage Quidditch bat.

But Ron wouldn't have had the chance to. He wouldn't be present, because even though he worked in the Ministry of Magic as well, he wasn't part of the Department of Secrecy, which was the Ministry's equivalent of Secret Services. Harry wouldn't have been there either, if he didn't belong to a special Auror squad under their jurisdiction. As for Hermione—

"You may interpret my orders however way you'd like to, Potter," Sullivan said when he finally spoke, his finger tapping away impatiently at his table. It distracted Hermione terribly. "But I'll ask you to respect and trust our intentions, and understand that Ms. Granger—excuse me, Mrs. Potter, I meant—or do you prefer going by your maiden name?"

They both turned to Hermione then, for the first time in the meeting. She remembered being a little startled at the sudden attention on her. She'd been curious why Sullivan had called for them both when they were never briefed for each other's jobs. This meeting was supposed to be about her, but now she could tell that it was really about convincing Harry Potter, not her. Sullivan probably just wanted to make sure Harry wouldn't form unnecessary suspicions of his wife if he knew what was going on. The hard-hearted chief's delicacy ended where he deemed was necessary only.

Hermione despised his hypocrisy. So instead of acknowledging Sullivan's sudden sensitivity to her opinion, she decidedly ignored it, only asking him to go on with his argument.

She could almost see the subtle twitch in Sullivan's eyebrow at her laconic response. Hermione knew that her boss never quite liked her, calling her an "intellectual woman" behind her back, as if it wasn't supposed to be a compliment. She was _too hard to read_. _Too sure of herself._ Hermione could care less what he thought of her personality, but the social connotations behind his opinions stung nonetheless.

"So what I was saying," Sullivan had continued after clearing his throat, "was that we all know that she is an expert in house elves sociology. Well..."

He seemed to have blushed a little at that, if he knew how to be ashamed after all.

"By _all_, I meant the staff in our department."

_Oh yes, right, it must be convenient that my research is unknown to the public._

Hermione had almost said it out loud; instead she had kept her mouth shut tight. Now after the meeting though, she wished that she had given Sullivan a piece of her mind for once. She wasn't a bitter person in general, but her employment at the Ministry had left her career miserable and restricted without an option to quit. After all, the Department of Secrecy was restricting her from doing a full-on research on house elves. Not to mention forcing her to lie to her family and closest friends. Even Ron didn't know that she was hired by the Ministry of Magic, but at least Harry knew the truth. Though it was only because he worked in the same department as she did. Their marriage obviously wasn't a priority in their boss' mind.

"We need someone trained in combat as well," Sullivan continued to persuade an unconvinced Harry."Her scores in mandatory training were off the roofs, Potter, you must remember that? Did you know that Colin once recommended her to join field squad training? Look, Potter, we _need_ her. As I've explained earlier, it's become clear—"

"That house elves are not only slaves for the elite, but also messengers and spies for Dark Alliance members, yes," Harry cut in, though still considerably holding back the temper he'd shown earlier, maybe because he had remembered that he was talking to his boss.

"I've read Hermione's report, sir, but—"

"Exactly," Sullivan interrupted, taking Harry's concurrence as the cue to say, "and yet you still refuse to see the fact that she's perfect for the role."

"But this project is fundamentally unnecessary!" Harry had both fists planted on Sullivan's desk now. He'd lost his cool again.

"Never mind that you're asking Hermione to _seduce_ Draco Malfoy in the process," he reasoned, repeating an argument he'd made already earlier, "but we have intelligence from other sources—and Auror Colin can really vouch for this—that we'll be able to arrest them next month without intercepting house elf intelligence!"

Hermione didn't know if she should be happy that Harry was defending her safety so furiously by playing down her research results. She sensed that he didn't want her involved in the argument though, because if Hermione were honest, Sullivan's confidence in her ability to understand house elves was spot on.

She only let Harry continue with his defense because she agreed with him that the assignment was rather ridiculous. Hermione couldn't see how she was spy material at all. Yet Harry didn't press the point when Sullivan had said her physical training scores were stellar, so he must not have been lying. She really did score pretty high, then.

It wasn't hard to guess why Harry had hid her scores from her, though it wasn't like Hermione was about to actively pursue front line combat with the knowledge. But if Harry could help it, everyone he cared about would be hidden in safe houses by now. It was precisely why he didn't stop the Ministry from practically imprisoning her.

Because Hermione was obsessed with house elves, and Harry couldn't have stopped her from studying what she loved if he tried.

But Sullivan could. Or to be more precise, the Ministry _did._

Hermione had originally intended to study house elves to make their lives better – something she had been passionate about since Hogwarts. She wrote her first paper on the history of house elf slavery after she graduated, when she began teaching at Hogwarts as a teaching assistant in the History of Magic. She had worked herself to the ground for her second essay in the next couple years, hoping to publish it under the title:_ House Elves: Imprisonment for Life and Their Roles in Politics_

It was she who suggested that house elves were not merely house slaves for the wealthy.

It was she who suggested that they had formed tight communities among themselves, a network of sworn secrecy.

It was her theory that Death Eaters had used this network to their benefit in the last war and may be still doing so.

And after a long grueling process of persuading her Hogwarts kitchen interviewees from their compulsive need to punish themselves through their confessions, she was getting very close to the truth. Until the war against the Dark Lord broke with His first attempted attack on the Ministry, and suddenly her research topic became highly political.

Then came a research ban that no longer allowed her to confer with other wizards who studied, much less advocated, magical creatures' rights. Then she found out that her first paper never saw light beyond the government's advanced degree panel, because the Ministry had deemed it too sensitive to publish. Hermione had objected fiercely, almost calling for a public hearing, when they pulled the strings to cut off all her research funding, threatening to—_No._ She really did not need to go over this whole history in her head again.

She was working for them now, as much as she hated the fact, and that was that. She will have to live with it if she wanted to continue working on what she cared about most, in whatever shape or form. "Until the war is over," she told herself, as she often did. She will bear it until the war was over.

It took her a moment to calm her anger, since Sullivan's annoying voice was still ringing in her head, now from a different part of the meeting earlier.

"We thought he would be disillusioned after his father's death. Lucius... suits him well, that rat bastard. Killed by his own boss probably. You-Know-Who..."

Ah, yes. Now they were back to Draco Malfoy. His father was killed only very recently. It was quite the news a month ago; though in dark times like these, no obituary lasted long in people's minds. There were too many other things people had to worry about, like their own lives.

But Lucius Malfoy's death did not leave Hermione's thoughts so soon. Thinking of the stony man's cold stare reminded her of his son's chilling anger that night, when she discovered his Dark Mark. She felt blood draining from her body again at that thought, like it did four years ago.

The tattooed skull, staring back at her from his right arm. The incomprehensible anger and confusion in his silvery grey eyes, and the awkwardness that accompanied them for the rest of the term.

It was already four years ago.

Hermione closed her eyes and ran a tired hand through her wavy locks of hair. She allowed herself to release a deep sigh and leaned back in her office chair, letting her other hand slide off the desk. She didn't mind if her neatly piled research notes would cascade to the floor.

It hadn't been much of a friendship yet, Hermine admitted, but it haunted her. Malfoy would've been the first Slytherin friend she made, and a pretty surprising one at that, considering their history, but she had welcomed it. She had thought that maybe even Malfoy welcomed it, too. And then from out of nowhere that night, or at least it had seemed that way to her, an infinite distance suddenly stood between them.

Draco Malfoy. When was the last time she had seen him? Not since they graduated from Hogwarts. What was he then, eighteen? Seventeen? It took her a moment to realise how young they were back then. Harry had shed his lankiness as a teenager in the past couple of years; and so had Ron. They'd grown wider shoulders, bulkier bodies. Malfoy too must be a full-grown man by now. She blushed a little, realising what she was imagining. _Really, Hermione, what would Malfoy say if he knew what you were thinking just now?_

Probably sneer at her, or maybe he wouldn't care at all. Certainly not the same playful banter like the old days at Hogwarts.

_And Sullivan thinks I can seduce him into revealing his family's secrets, and You-Know-Who's—! _

Hermione couldn't imagine meeting Malfoy today, much less meeting his house elf, who was supposed to spill his secrets as well. She doubted that she would even stand a chance at getting through the Malfoy Manor's door. The Draco Malfoy today would not even care to look at her, much less be_ seduced_ by her.

Sullivan was too optimistic.

With that final thought, she cleared her workdesk and stood up. She was so put off, there was no point staying at work. Her thoughts went back to how insensitive and forceful Sullivan was at the meeting. Certainly he did not think she would so easily accept the mission?

Yet she knew he would guilt her into it, because Sullivan knew how willing Hermione was to help in ending the war. And this absurdly outdated espionage idea might just be the opportunity she needed to speak to house elves outside of Hogwarts as well.

Walking out of the Ministry, the streets were as gloomy as it had been the past few months. Most stores were closed, temporarily or permanently. The clouds above were thick and dark. It was going to rain soon. Diagon Alley certainly hadn't looked as cheerless in the past, back when Hermione was still studying at Hogwarts. Those fun days seem so long ago now. There were a few people rushing through the streets, scampering like mice hiding from predators. The Floo Network had been down for a few weeks already. People were getting attacked left and right during those flights, nobody was willing to risk the chance anymore. It was ironic that walking home was safer than wheezing home. At least she wouldn't be killed indiscriminately.

"If I died," she thought to herself as she lowered her beret cap and stepped into the drizzling rain, "at least I'd know they were coming for me."

xxx

There had been nothing to say on the way back to their respective offices after that damned meeting with Sullivan - Harry to his room with his team, Hermione to her research center. Harry had avoided looking at her, while Hermione kept her eyes on her feet as they walked through the hallways.

What was Harry to say anyway? Sullivan had given him the ultimatum, warning that anything he did to obstruct Hermione's assignment would end both their contracts with the Ministry. Hermione didn't say anything to that, and Harry understood why.

He could go solo hunting down Voldermort, but Hermione would rather him stick with more traditional ways and capable comrades. As for her, the Ministry was the only place she could do her research in this political climate. If anything, working for the Ministry ensured her safety. Sullivan himself had said so, privately, and only to Harry at the end of their meeting.

"You know she can walk in broad daylight with all those dangerous questions and knowledge about house elves in her head because we stopped her research from going public, right? Can you imagine the number of Death Eaters that would want to off her? This is potent stuff. We _need_ her."

Harry had turned the corner into his office without saying a word. He knew Hermione was staring at him, almost reaching out to him to say something. But say what? Sorry? She didn't get herself into this.

Then why did it concern him so much?

Ah, right, Hermione had a crush on Malfoy. It was so long ago. In fact, Harry never knew for sure. But he never forgot that one night in their last year at Hogwarts, when she came crying to him.

He was surprised to see her at such a late hour that night. Ever since she became Head Girl, Hermione had spent less and less time in the Gryffindor common room with him and Ron. She was in such a mess that night, but he had decipher from her sobs and hiccups nonetheless that it had something to do with "Malfoy", "Dark Mark" and something that "hurts." The rumors that Malfoy had been initiated over winter break soon confirmed Harry's suspicions what it was about.

By then, he had known that Hermione had developed a quasi-friendship with Malfoy, over in their Head Prefect's dormitory, or at least, that was how Harry had liked to interpret the relationship that those two shared. He didn't think that Malfoy's show of alliance to the Dark Side would have affected her so much. Harry had seen the Dark Mark coming. How could Hermione, of all people, have possibly missed it?

That was when he suspected. That maybe she had feelings for Malfoy beyond some quasi-friendship between two Head Prefects on duty. That maybe it was why she began to stay away from her room, and hung out with him more often again while Ron was off dating his latest girlfriend. It wasn't so long before Harry asked her out and got a yes in response. They had been together since.

And now, Hermione, an established scholar (at least privately), and Harry, an promising Auror in the Ministry, were married and happy, even though their careers were difficult. This whole Malfoy thing was like a bomb on Harry's head.

_I thought that whole ordeal was over. Why tempt Hermione now?_

And the "What If" question. What if Malfoy had feelings for her too? Maybe, just maybe, Sullivan knew this. Merlin knows how, but the thought certainly didn't escape Harry's mind.

xxx

Hermione wanted to talk to Harry that night. To tell him how she felt, tell him how unwilling she was to go on the assignment as well. But Harry had to settle a threat case on the other end of town and didn't return that evening. She assumed that he went straight to work the next morning, so she left for the office too, thinking she'd see him there. Instead she found a letter from Auror Colin pinned to her wall. She was called into his office immediately. Hermione sighed. She decided she could talk to Harry later.

She knocked at the door three times.

"Come in," Colin's voice came from within.

She opened the door and went in, "I just read your message, sir."

Colin nodded, "Call me Charles from now on, especially while we're on the field. I would like to keep a low profile out there."

She nodded and understood that Charles was not his real name. In fact, Hermione doubted that she had ever known Colin's first name, even though she had worked under him for a few months now.

Colin was Harry's field commander. Apparently he saw fieldwork potential in her during mandatory training. Hermione never heard of such compliments from the chief auror of the Department of Secrecy. As much as she disliked most of her Ministry employers, she respected the stoic man for his sense of honesty. She wasn't so sure he knew what he was talking about this time though.

"So, let's start. Sit down," he pointed at a chair for her.

She sat down, her heart heavy with the thought of what he would say next.

Charles did not speak for a while, surveying her face with steady eyes. It made Hermione very uncomfortable.

"Personally, unlike Sullivan, I don't see a lot of success coming out of this mission," he said slowly with a steady voice. Hermione didn't know how to react, she was surprised to hear such words from Sullivan's closest subordinate.

"To start off with, I would assume that Malfoy is a pretty smart skunk. If he knows you're Harry Potter's wife... well, it would make sense that you could be a spy. He won't trust you easily."

Hermione nodded. She knew Malfoy enough to know that that was something he would consider.

"On the other hand, we could set things up so it seems coincidental. You should know, I believe, that _Jupiter_ will be on stage at the Opera House?"

"Um, yes... I've been wanting to see it," she replied hesitantly, not exactly knowing where this conversation was leading to yet. _Jupiter_ was a popular opera show with a happy ending. The Arts and Culture Department had been busily organizing it for months now, hoping it would cheer people up in this depressing atmosphere.

"That's great. So it's all set up," Charles looked glad, there was a half-grin on his face.

_So what is set up?_

"You will be there alone, supposedly because Potter is too busy, he's not coming with you. And we will in fact make sure he is busy so you would not be lying."

_Wait, what is he talking about? My mission?_

"We've booked a seat for you within Draco Malfoy's vision. I'll be briefing a few other personnels to ensure he notices you. I'd like you to go through some basic combat training this afternoon, and as for this evening," he added, eyeing her hair and the suit she was wearing, "You'll be meeting my assistant to dress up. We'll make sure he _notices_ you too."

Hermione was dumbfounded. She couldn't believe it; it was starting already.


	5. A spy's setup

**Chapter Five: A spy's setup**

* * *

"May I?"

There was an unmistakable hint of fear in her voice. It did not escape the young man's notice how the old lady's hand trembled as she presented it to him.

He only nodded in response. Taking off his long black overcoat, he wordlessly removed a pair of theatre binoculars and some valuables from the pockets. As he handed the folded coat to her, his platinum blonde hair cascaded over his well-defined facial features. Their eyes met then. He saw how her pupils dilated, a look of fear sweeping over her face.

The cloak lady quickly disappeared into the room behind her.

He didn't even have the chance to thank her.

Looking down at the counter where she'd hastily left him a silver tag to later retrieve his outwear, the man sighed and swept his loose locks of hair over an ear. It brought out his piercing grey eyes and the tired furrow between his eyebrows, the same look he had on him earlier that had scared the woman away.

So what was it about him that was so apprehensive? All she was doing was hanging his coat. An offer. Did he seem like he would lash out any moment? He knew exactly what it was though. Unprovoked verbal whiplash was the kind of thing his father would have given anyone looking that timid.

_But Lucius was an impatient fool._

Well, when he was alive anyway.

Draco Malfoy knew it wasn't just about his father's reputation. It was his whole family. From the Malfoys, the Blacks to the Lestranges. You didn't need to be out-and-out involved in the war to know. Almost all of his close relatives were suspected active Death Eaters, including himself. Good enough reason to squirm in his presence, he supposed.

But that thought was precisely what he wanted to get away from tonight. To see an opera he hadn't seen since his early childhood, so he could forget about everything. He needed a break from his family and from work—especially work. Malfoy wasn't going to let a trivial interaction with the cloakroom clerk ruin his rare moment of repose. Shoving the coat tag into his trousers, he picked up an event pamphlet from the counter and turned away to find his booth.

_Jupiter_ was a Russian classical wizardry opera from some centuries ago. He had only seen it once, before he had even been to Hogwarts. He remembered really enjoying it as a child, but recalled little else, and now that the opera was back in town after almost ten years, he figured he'd give it a try. Looking down at his ticket again to confirm where his seat was, he folded the pamphlet and turned into another corridor. He can read it closely once he'd found his seat.

Malfoy was on the second floor, his favorite floor - close enough to the stage but not crowded with all the other audience on the ground floor. At the end of the red-carpeted corridor he came to the door to his booth. He turned the door knob and walked in. There was no one there yet. He found his seat in the front row and sat down to read the pamphlet more thoroughly. He enjoyed this quiet time alone in the opera house booths. There was a reason why he preferred to be at the opera early. No disturbance, nobody to ask him for offers, nobody to control his life. In the days when his father was still around, he had to go everywhere with his mother. But things had changed, and now he finally could be alone.

The opera house slowly filled up. There was more noise now. Malfoy couldn't help noticing the high-pitched voices exchanging greetings a few booths down, on his floor. So annoying. Why can't they keep their conversations to themselves? He looked up to see if he knew them.

_Ah, Mrs. Parkinson and Lady Antonette. Why am I not surprised? Loud insufferable women they are._

They were also wives of his deceased father's cronies - best to ignore them. He was going to instantly look away, in case they noticed him and - oh the horror - started shouting across the booths to him to say hello. But someone else caught his eye.

One booth closer to him from the obnoxious madams, was a young woman who he seemed to recognize. Her features were so familiar from somewhere deep in his memories, somewhere so long ago; but he could not pin-point who she exactly was. He watched her - her dark brown hair that was pulled up into an elaborate twist, her wavy strands hanging from the side of her smooth face down her slender shoulders, her dark eyes fluttering and staring off into the crowd downstairs, her small hands resting on the railing, her strapless dark green dress that complimented her lightly tanned skin tone. Despite how it seemed like she was at the opera alone, her eyes following every motion of the people down below, there was calmness in her composure. It was almost like she was observing each person, closely. Who was it? Draco knew those eyes. Those eyes belonged to someone who he had respected, someone smart and sensible - someone completely out of his world. And then she turned slightly his way. She did not seem to notice him, but it instantly hit him who this attractive woman was. He forgot about the loud-mouthed women sitting behind her, in fact he did not even notice them when they waved at him.

Hermione Granger. How long had it been since he had last seen her? Probably graduation. That was almost four years ago. He still remembered how she looked that night: A champagne white halter-neck dress that went down to her knees, her long bangs pulled to the back of her head neatly, while her wavy hair flowed around her shoulders. She had a huge smile on her face when she went on stage, receiving her diploma - a top student, the only other person in the whole of Hogwarts that was up to his academic standards. More importantly she was a hard-working witty-mouthed girl. And he liked that. He used to hate her when they were younger. She was a muggle-born, and yet she excelled in almost everything he was good at. He could not stand her. And then they became Head Prefects together and they had to live opposite each other. He was forced to see her every day. Eventually, she grew on him. Jealousy became respect. He liked the playful banters they had every day. He was almost positive that she had a crush on him too; except she started dating Potter. But that was after she discovered his Dark Mark anyway. She was so righteous. There was no way she would have fallen for him after that.

Hermione Granger. What was she doing alone at an opera? Where was that bastard husband of hers that kept getting in his way at work? He had heard that Potter and Granger had married not long ago. Potter was so infamous in his world - for busting all his dark-side business partners of course. There was no way such information as his marriage could have escaped Draco Malfoy's attention. Luckily, he had so far not been busted for anything. He was very careful with not doing anything illegal with his public business partners. He always insisted to pay everything, full fee; and he took no bribes. While his dark-side... well, he shared information with no one. Realizing he was thinking about work again, he swept the thought away. He was there to enjoy an opera, not mull over work - damned work that requires skills in cheating, hiding, deceiving. He was sick of it. For once he wanted to enjoy himself. And now he had found something else maybe he can enjoy - a long-forgotten crush, appearing out of nowhere.

Before he could decide what he wanted to do about this coincidence, the lights went off and the orchestra began to play a grand opening for the opera 'Jupiter'. The show was fabulous, but Malfoy's thoughts were occupied, occupied by the beautiful woman two booths down. And so he was disappointed when the lights came on again at the end of the show, and she was already gone.

Where did she go? Was she a fickle of his imagination? It surprised him how much it was bothering him that she was nowhere to be found. Fine, he had a crush for her in school. So he was a little disappointed. But he would have really enjoyed surprising her, maybe give her some snide cheeky remark. Then it slowly occurred to him that she probably was not real. He was just too tired. He must have been imagining things.

At the cloak room the old lady looked terrified again. She already had his coat ready before he had even arrived. But Malfoy did not even seem to notice her thoughtfulness, or her fear. He was too absorbed by the possibility that his brains were just playing games with him.

He broke out of his trance when he realized he had stepped on a puddle once he was outside the opera house. Rain drops blurred his vision slightly and the wind blew strands of his hair into his face. Only then he noticed the pouring rain. But there was nothing to worry about; his carriage was right around the corner. In the dark, already the horseman had noticed him and began driving towards him. Malfoy gave him a nod as the carriage stopped in front of him. It was only then he noticed the lady standing not far away from him - the long rich green dress, the sexy wavy brown hair. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Hermione's hair was slightly wet from the water dripping down from the opera house's roof ledge. Her dark brown eyes were filled with - awe? Or was she just stunned? He was not sure. It seemed like she was just as caught unawares as he was.

"Malfoy..." He saw her mouth with her small lips.

He smirked. Oh, that trademark smirk. It was already driving her insane inside. Her heart was beating so furiously against her chest, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. She was not sure if she was nervous because she was on the mission, or because Malfoy had grown to become such a... no, she refused to admit how attractive he had become. That was not the point of the mission. And she was not sure how to start a conversation with him. She needed to somehow befriend him, right? When Charles told her to just sit back and enjoy the show, she did as she was told. He furthermore instructed her not to even make notice of Malfoy, even though she knew perfectly well where he was. So she made it a point not to make eye contact with him. But then Charles had also told her to leave before the lights came on and stand outside the opera house.

So she did. She was not exactly sure how Malfoy could find her then. There were so many people outside the opera house. Then it started raining. Many simply apparated. There was not many left around her when Malfoy stepped out of the opera too. She was standing so close to where he was, for a moment it was a wonder why he had not even noticed her. As for how she should react, Charles had told her to just be surprised as she should be, and let the man do the rest. It was raining. She had no carriage unlike he did. He was a gentleman. If all went well, once Malfoy had noticed her, it would be like the script was automatically written.

And Draco Malfoy had certainly noticed her.

"Well, well, what a coincidence... Hermione Granger," he said as he stepped off his carriage again and walked up to her. He sounded so fake even to himself, he nearly laughed out loud.

_As if I haven't noticed you earlier, Granger. And you look so surprised to see me._

"It's been... it's been a while, Malfoy," she mumbled, her eyes shifting from his face to her hands that were clasped together on her dress. She certainly was taken aback when their eyes met, but she had also noticed him long before he had noticed her. Did she look surprised enough?

"How have you been?" he asked warmly, "At the opera alone tonight?"

Hermione smiled a small smile, "I've been doing well, thank you... Harry couldn't come today, he has work."

She wondered if it was a bad idea to mention Harry, but she had to have a logical explanation for why she was out on a Saturday night, alone. She decided to get that out of the way anyway; Malfoy couldn't possibly not know about her marriage with Harry. But maybe it was a dumb move. Malfoy seemed a little taken aback. Or maybe she had imagined it, because when he spoke again he didn't show a hint of unpleasantness.

"Oh right, you guys got married. I've heard so before, I'm sorry I haven't been able to congratulate you two," he congratulated her.

She was a little disappointed, a little relieved. There goes the possibility that Malfoy still had a crush on her. Why would he congratulate her or else? In her memory Malfoy never even liked Harry very much. This mission was probably never going to work anyway.

But then he was looking at her in such a way, his eyes moving up and down her, that she could not help noticing the seductive tone in his voice, "My... Miss Granger, you're drenched."

She blushed. He called her Ms. Granger, so playfully. He knew she was married, and yet he chose to call her Miss. And there was that twinkle in his eyes.

"So are you," she replied sheepishly, her eyes following the rain drop that dripped slowly from strands of his pure blonde hair.

"Well, it's not good especially for a lady to stand out here in the cold like this... Would you like to take a ride with me to my place?" he offered. She felt like a schoolgirl being escorted. There was no witty comment that she could make at the moment. She was too astounded. Did he even intend to give her mixed messages? She couldn't tell. She was too caught up in his piercing grey eyes.

"We could have your dress dried while we have some tea," he continued, "It's been a while... I'd like to catch up with you."

Slowly, she nodded. Her eyes did not leave his face, "I'd love to," she replied softly, "Thank you."

_That went more smoothly than I thought it would,_ Hermione thought to herself as they got onto Draco's carriage. So smooth, that she was worried. What if he was taking her hostage because he knew she was Harry Potter's wife? What if this was just a tactic to learn about secret information of the Ministry through her? She hesitantly got onto his carriage and stayed nervous throughout the ride to Malfoy's Manor.

Malfoy on the other hand, had no idea that she was nervous because of such things. All he was thinking about was how smoothly it all went. He almost half-expected her to turn down the offer. After all she was a married woman, and he had just invited her to his manor in the middle of the night. But then the circumstances did not seem too unnatural - two old friends, both drenched, pouring rain and one carriage. He was not about to let a lady go home drenched in his presence. And Granger - he took a glance at her, her graceful outline, her beautiful face - she certainly was a lady. And she was so much tamer than he had known her. Where did that snappy young girl go? Did her marriage with Potter change her? Or was she just nervous because they had not seen each other in so long?

Or maybe she did not even really want to get onto his carriage and she was just being polite. After all, the last time they spoke? She had found out he had become a Death Eater. Uncertainty loomed in the carriage as they drove quietly in the pouring rain. Neither of them spoke throughout the ride, the only sounds heard were the click-click of the horse hooves and the turning of the wheels, the rain beating on the roofs, the pavement. And when the carriage pulled up at Malfoy's Manor, both Hermione and Draco jumped a little in surprise.

"Here we are," Malfoy said as he opened the door for her, "Lady first."

_Here we are, _Hermione thought. This was where Sullivan had wanted her to be.


	6. The Malfoy Manor

**Chapter Six: The Malfoy Manor**

**

* * *

**

She had never been to the Malfoy Manor. And prior to this night, she had not quite imagined what it would be like to visit. She expected his home to be grand, to be extravagant – the taste of the Mafloys. Well, it was grand indeed.

When she stepped out of the horse carriage and looked up at the building, she was overwhelmed by its size, its presence. On the front, there were columns after columns lining up, from the roof to the marble floor. The three-story building had a flat roof. Every room she can see had tall windows with thick drawn curtains. The architecture was reminiscent of the Greeks. The main door reached almost up to the ceiling of the first floor as well. It was made of a dark, almost black wood with heavy silver door knocks. Shades were drawn everywhere. There seemed to be no light in the house.

"Do you live here alone?" Hermione asked in a whisper. Despite its grandness, the Malfoy Manor looked awfully lonely from the outside. It was not extravagant in that sense. Malfoy did not answer. Instead, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door. He muttered something under his breath; for a moment, nothing happened. And then the next, there was a creak, and then a louder one, until the door began to move and slowly opened up inwards.

"Welcome home, sir," a voice said from the inside. Hermione was startled by the voice, in particular because she saw no one. A House elf? She had no idea of knowing.

A scent of old oak wood filled Hermione's senses; she stepped in cautiously to a marble doorway. Malfoy took off his coat, which automatically hung itself up on a hanger on the side. Hermione took off her own, which also flew onto the hanger and neatly settled itself. A long dimly lit corridor continued before her. There were old paintings lining up on the walls, but she couldn't see whose or what paintings they were. They certainly didn't speak. After having spent so many years in the wizardry world, it almost made her uncomfortable to find paintings that were motionless. She expected them to start speaking anytime; maybe crack a few insulting jokes about her muggle ancestry. People in paintings always seemed to know everything about the living, and never seemed quite polite about it.

She took off her soaked pair of silver mules on the marble floor, and stepped onto a long thick lush carpet that led down the corridor into what seemed like a living room. A fire was crackling in the distance. She felt loneliness inside the house as well. Despite its size, the manor was minimally decorated. At least as far as she had seen – and a house's doorway often said a lot about the house itself.

Reserving her comments to herself for now, she followed Malfoy into the room with the crackling fire. Before she had time to look around, he opened another door and led her up a staircase.

"If you would like to get warm and dry, we have a bathroom here ready for you," he said as he turned on the light to a warmly lit bathroom, "It hasn't been used in a while but I had it cleaned before you came."

Hermione did not understand; her visit was not planned. Or was it?

Malfoy just smirked, oh that smirk.

"You can leave your clothes right there in that basket. It will be dried by the time we finish tea. And there is change in the other room connected to this one," he pointed to the door on the opposite wall, "Feel free to enjoy yourself bathing, and don't hesitate to wear anything you like."

"Do you always invite ladies to your house like this and offer them clothing?" Hermione teased him.

He smirked again and said as he closed the door slowly, 'You have no idea."

She certainly didn't. Malfoy closed the door behind him and went into his own bedroom. Inviting ladies to this house? Maybe in the old days, when people came and went frequently. All those grand parties his parents held here. But today... he sighed. There really wasn't anything interesting to say about his home today. He took off his drenched suit and stepped into his own bathroom for a hot shower, all the time wondering to himself why he had invited Hermione Granger of all women to his manor after all this time -

When Hermione came back down into the living room, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. She wrapped her arms around herself as she gently rubbed the dress fabric against her skin. It was a nice silky white dress, not too fancy, but classy and comfortable. She could not help but wonder who the dress belonged to. It didn't seem new, in fact, it looked vintage. Hermione took her time to look around as she waited for the master of the house to return.

It was a wide living room with a lot of extra space. Tightly surrounding a fireplace in the middle wall that faced the doorway, were a few comfortable-looking sofas. Everything was coordinated in tones of green, as she had expected of loyal Slytherines like the Malfoys. She walked up to the fire and looked at the books scattered on the coffee table. Real Estates and business... they were books for work, or maybe Malfoy just really enjoyed doing research on his career. From the file that Charles had handed her earlier that day, she had read that Malfoy worked in real estate - at least that was the front job with a clean record. There was a bookcase as well, which was again filled with books about real estates, records of the past few years of his work, a few dictionaries and some other books without titles. Hermione wanted to look at them, but did not want to be rude. She may be a spy, but she wasn't going to blatantly search around the house. She looked around again. That was all. The room was so large compared to the minimal furniture in the middle of the room. The room seemed like it used to house so many more people - now it was just for Draco Malfoy alone.

Were all the other rooms in this house like this? She could not possibly imagine living here alone.

"Tea?" a voice said suddenly behind her.

She nearly jumped, "Oh! Oh... Malfoy, yes... yes please."

He smirked again as he settled down on a sofa opposite her, "Startled you?" He looked at her, from head to toe, slowly, the way he used to at Hogwarts. It reminded her of the feelings she had for him back then, and it made her uncomfortable how her heartbeat was going crazy.

"I see you picked my mother's favorite dress. It fits you well, Granger, maybe even better than it fit her."

So it was his mother's. "Where is she?" she asked, as innocently as possible. She had read the files of course.

He looked away without answering immediately, and began putting away the books on the coffee table. "Away," he then said, and that was all.

There was an awkward silence, and it would have lasted longer if not for the sudden appearance of a tiny little creature with a silver tray of porcelain teapots and cups. "Your tea, Master," the House elf announced meekly and placed the tray on the coffee table.

"About time," Malfoy said, annoyed. People always seemed annoyed around house elves. Malfoy wasn't an exception. As for Hermione, she was in return annoyed by people's tone of voice when they spoke to house elves. To them, they were slaves; to her, it was outrageously rude. But she held her tongue for now and sat down on an armchair across from Malfoy. Instead, she asked a friendly question, "You have a new house elf now?"

Malfoy looked at her, the House elf looked terrified - if Hermione could really read his expression at all. Maybe it was the wrong question to ask.

"Yes, we got a new one after we lost the last," there was a little bit of annoyance in Malfoy's voice. He obviously did not enjoy being reminded of Dobby. The shivering house elf poured the two of them some tea and quickly disapparated. Hermione felt a little disappointed. She had wanted to ask him more questions.

It must had showed on her face, though Malfoy seemed to had interpreted it differently.

"Not a fan of Earl Grey? I have more exotic types, you know," Malfoy said uneasily, making a hand gesture to her to have the tea.

"Oh no, I love Earl Grey..." Hermione quickly replied and sipped the tea, "I'm sorry, I'm just... a little distracted. I never thought I'd be here one day."

Even though she was half trying to cover up for her carelessness, she knew there was truth in her words. She felt her cheeks burn as she looked up slowly, only to find his eyes resting on hers. It was a soft smoky gaze, unlike the uncomfortable one earlier when she had just reminded him of Dobby. A small smile crept onto his lips, and then disappeared behind his teacup as he sipped some tea as well.

His eyes now gazed at the fireplace, as Hermione stole glances at him over her teacup. Now that they had sat down calmly at the fire, not hidden in the darkness of the horse carriage earlier, she could see that Malfoy had indeed transformed into a full-grown man. Other than an undeniably more masculine composure, Hermione noticed how his eyes were sharp and refined, unlike the childlike roundness they used to have. It was as though years of experiences had hardened them. He was always an intelligent young man, but now his contemplative look made him look even wiser.

"It's been so long, Granger," he finally said after a long silence. It seemed that Malfoy was also reminiscing.

And when had he turned to her? Hermione did not realize until he spoke that he was watching her with an intensity that made her blush again. The way he looked at her, she could had melted then and there. His eyes stared into hers, unwavering. Hermione noticed that despite all the change, his eyes still had the silvery glow to them that never failed to mesmerize her. It was as if he knew what his gaze was doing to her, that small smile crept back onto his lips.

"Certainly you're more graceful than you were back then."

She knew he was taunting her, and in mock annoyance she countered, "You've lost your scrawniness yourself."

"Never was as scrawny as Potter though, and see who you married."

"At least I'm not still roaming about, spouseless like someone," Hermione retorted with a chuckle.

"Ouch," Malfoy pretended like her words stung, and then remembering something, he mumbled, "actually... I'm engaged - well, at least according to my mother."

Arranged marriage. Even without Charles' files she had heard of the rumors. So it was true.

"You don't sound excited."

"No... I'm not. Well, I've met this woman numerous times at parties... but I don't actually know her. Our parents know each other well though."

"Parties... like here? In your house?" Hermione asked, looking around at the wide space around them. It sure was empty now, but she could imagine it if she closed her eyes. Glittering chandeliers, classical music, wine, champagne and beautiful dresses. Women and men of upscale families.

Malfoy nodded, "Yea... we used to host a lot of cocktail parties, balls, fancy stuff. Never quite enjoyed them though."

"Why so? I'd imagine them to be lovely. It's quite lonely here now..." She glanced at him, wondering if she touched a sensitive spot. After all, both his parents were gone, and he didn't have any siblings to be with.

He grimaced and then looked at her, "I prefer smaller... Like right now, you and me talking over tea. This is nice. I enjoy this."

Hermione smiled at his words.

"But parties... they're draining. I'd rather stay in my room, drink tea and read something." And then he looked at her with that smirk of his, sitting back and relaxing in his seat, "You must know how I feel, Granger. You've always been a bookworm."

She felt like a school girl, blushing at his every movement, every word. It couldn't be helped. First the playful banter, and now a conversation like old friends... It was nothing like what she'd expected when Malfoy stopped talking to her in their seventh year at Hogwarts. She had almost completely forgotten about the real reason why she was here, when the house elf appeared again. Apparently he knew so when the tea was gone. Likely he prepared the bath for her as well earlier.

This time Hermione managed to have a good look at him. He was wearing rags that were barely clothes, just like the other house elves under contract; it was part of the cruel covenant between their masters and them - giving them clothing would mean freedom - or banishment - depending on how you looked at it. He had a pale green complex, and his tiny hands shivered just a little when he carried the tray of teapots, as if they were too heavy for him... they probably were, but Hermione wasn't so rude as to take his job from him. She'd remembered what happened the last time she tried for another house elf. There were a lot of head banging and screams, and she definitely would rather avoid them right now.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"Sy... Symon, Mistress," he whimpered. Hermione could see how his knees were shaking uncontrollably. So this was Symon. His name was on the files that she received too. In fact, it was his name that their informant spilled to the Ministry that led to this mission.

"Symon... that is a beautiful name. I'm Hermione Granger."

Symon almost beamed - if house elves smiled ever, that is. He bowed a little but held his tongue when he saw the cold look on Malfoy's face. He seemed to become anxious again, shivering.

Hermione decided to push her luck a little more and asked Symon another question, "When did you come to this house?"

Malfoy answered instead. "We got him about 2 years ago. Stop asking him questions; you're making him nervous. I don't need a nervous servant in the house. Not especially with these nerve-wrecking creatures. Pour some tea for the lady," Malfoy ordered Symon.

He obeyed, but it seemed like the damage was done. He was so nervous; the tea was splashing out of the teacup. Some hit Hermione's bare arms, and reflexively she reached up to sooth the burn.

"Now look what you've done!"

Hermione couldn't quite tell whether Malfoy was shouting at Symon or at her, but the next thing she knew, Symon was knocked off his feet and landed on the carpet. The teapot rolled around briefly and stopped, the tea spilled all over Symon's face. He wined softly in pain.

"Malfoy!" she leapt off her seat instantly, "How could you..." Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wiped Symon's face with her handkerchief. She had held back her instincts so many times today regarding Symon, but this was too much for her.

She wiped off the tears on her face with the back of her forearm as she smoothed out Symon's rags. "He's not your slave! You can't treat people like this!" she finally allowed herself to say what was on her mind all this time.

As for Malfoy, he had gotten off his feet as well, and he looked shaken for a while, though Hermione did not see. It was true that he had become so accustomed to being irritated by Symon, he never thought about being nice to him. But he had also never actually physically hurt him like tonight. _I'm like my father... _But he cast the thought away quickly. He couldn't blame everything he did on his upbringing. No. That wasn't it. It was something else... her presence. But why? And then he remembered that she was married to Potter, Potter who was one of the top Auror of the Ministry. What if tonight was planned? What if she came here to uncover my atrocious association with - that was it. That was what he was anxious about every time she had interacted with his house elf. And yet, he did regret hitting Symon. And looking at Hermione's angry face right now, he couldn't help but notice how unbelievably attractive she was even when she was upset. It was an inappropriate thought at the moment, but suspicion got the better of him soon enough.

"And who are you to tell me how to treat my servant? You come in here, asking all these questions to a house elf. Nobody ever does such thing, Granger. Everyone knows how easily agitated house elves -"

"And have you even thought about why that is?" Hermione retorted before he could finish his sentence, sitting to the front side of Symon protectively, "You look at him with such cold eyes, Malfoy. How on earth do you expect him not to be frightened of you? Have you ever even spoken a kind word to Symon? Have you ever apologized? Did it even cross your mind?"

Malfoy was about to give her a piece of his mind, when Symon gave out a shriek and started hitting himself in the head, "I'M SO SORRY MASTER! I'M SO SORRY MASTER!"

"SHUT IT!" Malfoy yelled, and Symon immediately stopped, though his wimpering remained.

"Do you see this, Granger? This is what he does when he gets upset, and he gets upset more than once a day. And if you don't command them to stop, they never will. How would it be like for you to deal with this on a day-to-day basis? You think it's easy because you don't actually LIVE with these creatures. They're like time-bombs. If you were in my place, you'd be as irritated as I am, waiting for that next shriek or head banging -"

"If I were in your place, Malfoy," she said with such contempt, "I would have given him some proper clothes and hired him."

There was silence in the room. Malfoy looked speechless. Symon's large eyes widened even more. Evidently it was an unthinkable thought to either of them.

"...I can't do that, Granger," Malfoy finally said, it was almost a whisper.

"And why not? It wouldn't be the first time for your family," Hermione snapped.

Malfoy snickered mockingly.

"You wouldn't understand."

"What wouldn't I understand, Malfoy?" she couldn't believe how he was not even giving it a thought.

"You're too naive. It's not as simple as that."

Now she was really angry. "Don't patronize me, Malfoy! You may be from a wealthy family, and have a house that can host hundreds of people at a time. But the rest of us get by without help, you're so lucky to have a servant to do your laundry, your guest's laundry! and pour you tea. Are these things you can't do by yourself? Are you as incompetent as such that you have to get a new house elf, when you had already let go of -"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, GRANGER."

It shut her up. The volume of his voice surprised her.

She looked at him in the eye. She couldn't read him. There was anger, and - and what was it? A sadness, as if he were about to tear up. What did she say to hurt him?

After a long silence Malfoy sat back down into his seat and sighed, "Please go home... Symon will show you out."

Symon scrambled up to get ready. But she didn't let him. "I'll show myself out, thank you."

Even after all that, Malfoy still reflexively assumed Symon's diligence, or it was a show of his resolve, she couldn't tell.


	7. Failed mission

**Chapter Seven: Failed Mission

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**

_Have you informed Him of the lady's visit?  
No, Master.  
You better not be lying to me.  
I tell the truth, Master.  
I can't trust you.  
I understand, Master...  
...__Master?  
What.  
She's nice, Master.  
Nobody asked for your opinion, you midget of a scoundrel._

She blew it. Obviously she had failed the mission, but Hermione was not particularly concerned. After all, she never really wanted to spy on Malfoy. No, she was more so upset because, however perversely twisted the circumstances were, she had just blown the one opportunity to reconnect with Malfoy. Whatever lingering attachment she had for him though, well, now she knew she did not care for him. _That pompous ill-tempered scumbag..._

The moment she entered her apartment she carelessly tossed her coat onto the sofa and went into the kitchen to boil some water. It took her a moment to realize she was making tea out of habit before blowing out the fire and flopping down onto the carpeted floor in front of the coffee table_. _What was I thinking, trying to change Malfoy?

"_You don't understand, Granger."_

Those words kept ringing in her head. Maybe she pushed him too hard. Maybe there was a particular reason why Symon upset him. Sighing, she decided she did want some tea after all and reheated the pot. Under her breath she muttered "Accio folder" and Malfoy's files came flying from Hermione's study onto the kitchen counter. She then sat down to read the files over meticulously.

_Draco Malfoy, 22  
-Direct heir to the Malfoy family  
-Working in real estate business since before the onset of the war  
-Platinum blonde hair, grey eyes, 6ft (183cm) tall  
-Death Eater since 17, though record clean  
-Current direct involvement in the Dark Alliance is unclear_

This last part, the fact that his direct involvement was ambiguous was why the Ministry had their eye on Draco Malfoy. Then what made them suspicious? Right, Symon. There. She found the page she had read about him.

_Symon, age unknown (young)  
-A house elf  
-Distantly related to Kreacher, the Black family's last house elf  
-Currently enlisted under the Malfoy family  
-Unique due to his particular green skin tone – yes, Hermione had made a note of that when she met him.  
-Name mentioned by informant before Lucius' death_

Draco Malfoy said that Symon arrived at his house about two years ago. That was about a year after the war started. According to the files, the Malfoy family's witnessed involvement in crime increased substantially around then.

The interesting part was that an arrested member of the Dark Alliance had mentioned Symon's name in trial. Highly unusual. Who would ever think of ratting out on a house elf, instead of the house elf's master? The files also pointed out that the informant was mentally unstable when questioned. Possibly the insane man simply mentioned Symon in association with Lucius Malfoy. The court thus linked Symon's name to the Malfoys' involvement in crime. With all the other testimonies by witnesses, they were ready to arrest Lucius.

But that was before Lucius' untimely death. His cause of death was an unknown, but nobody bothered to ask. His family certainly did not say a thing. The court decided the case was over. But when another informant mentioned Symon's name a month after Lucius' death… something was fishy.

And so Hermione was assigned to her mission.

And I failed already.  
How marvelous.

She broke out of her trace as the teapot howled. She looked up at the clock. Midnight. Harry still wasn't back. She realized she hadn't been thinking about him at all the entire evening, and she felt guilty.

He must be on another dangerous mission... and what was I doing all this time? Swooning over a man that proved to be a waste of time. And yet... again, those last words Malfoy said to her.

_"You don't understand, Granger."_

And his eyes, sadder than she'd ever seen. It bothered her so.

x x x

It wasn't for another two hours before Harry returned. He came home to find Hermione dozing off on their sitting room sofa, a mug of tea cold on the coffee table. He tried not to disturb her, but Hermione shot up instantly at the sound of the front door closing.

"Harry... you're home."

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized, hurrying to her side and embracing her, "You look exhausted."

Hermione chuckled, "this, coming from a man who just came back from dueling the enemy."

Harry smiled, but then his lips quickly curled downwards again, "You were dueling with an enemy yourself."

Those words woke her up clearly. He knew?

"Colin informed me after tonight's work... why didn't you tell me?"

He looked at her pleadingly. He was upset, and she could tell. After all, she went ahead with the mission without even discussing it once with him.

"I'm sorry... I... he... I didn't have the chance to," Hermione mumbled. Harry didn't look very convinced.

She sighed, and gave in, "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't be making excuses for myself... I was just scared to discuss it with you, knowing you wouldn't approve. I didn't want to do this either... but I guess I felt like it was my opportunity to do something useful for people - the way you're working night and day. ...though all that is moot now. I failed."

Harry listened to her intently as she explained what happened. He rubbed his messy black hair and sighed.

"Hermione... I really wish we'd talked before all this happened. We're married. We have to communicate with each other. What am I here for if you can't even confide in me?"

It almost made her cry that her neglect of him had made him say such a thing. She nodded apologetically and reached her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her tiny frame too and stroked her soft wavy hair. "It's okay. Let's forget this whole thing," he whispered. She squeezed him tightly. He was so warm, so understanding. After so many years of friendship and then being together as a couple, Hermione renewed her understanding of why she fell in love with him and married him.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

x x x

The next couple weeks were peaceful for the Potter couple. Hermione wrote a report to Colin of her failure to gain much insider information. She had some breakthrough in her research - Symon's skin color inspired her to discover a possible hierarchy among house elves depending on their physical appearance. She spent a lot of time with Harry, who got some time off from his work. They went to see _Jupiter _together, which Hermione was glad to see with Harry this time. They met up with Ron at a bar one night too, and Hermione met Harry's co-worker Layla for the first time.

"So you're Hermione! I've heard a lot about you." Layla shook her hand with such enthusiasm that Hermione thought she may dislocate her arm, "and Ronny! I haven't seen you in a while, how's your wife?"

"You look fabulous today, Layla!" Ron said at the top of his voice as Layla gave him a hug. He had been at the bar for a few hours by then and was quite wasted.

"Oh, Ronny! You're too nice. Do you like my new earrings?" Layla swooped up her long curly blonde hair and showed off her dangly earrings that matched the red highlights in her hair.

"Anything looks beautiful on you, Layla," Harry laughed, as he ordered all of them another round of margaritas. Layla squealed happily and went dancing around the room, greeting everyone of her friends at the bar. The bar was filled with Ministry workers - like Ron, who worked in the Finance and Accounting Department. Layla seemed to know everyone.

"She's very bubbly," Hermione whispered to Harry. It was only her second time at this bar and she was still feeling a little uncomfortable with all the rowdiness. Usually she went home directly, or stayed at work till so late that she wouldn't feel like drinking. Ron seemed like a frequent customer though, now he was singing heartily in the corner with his arm around the bartender.

"Oh yea," Harry agreed as he handed her a glass, "she's still young. Very serious at work though. Brilliant Auror."

"I bet."

She had to be. To had advanced so quickly and be working on the front line at the age of nineteen. She was the only teenager in their whole team.

The night rolled on, with more laughter and singing and drinking. After her second shot of whiskey and countless margaritas and cans of beer, Hermione felt like she was floating whenever she tried to walk. She ended up sitting next to Harry and Layla at a table, with her face in her folded arms, as Ron snored away to her side.

"You okay, Hermione?" Harry shook Hermione's shoulder lightly, which caused a wave of headaches for her. She grunted softly in pain.

"Dude, he's OUT," Layla announced as she poked Ron in the head again and again. He did not respond.

"He sure does snore loudly," Harry said, as he rested his head in his hand, "it's giving me a headache."

Layla giggled, "Not as loud as you are, Harry. I swear I can't sleep on nights when we share a room."

Share a room? Hermione woke up instantly, her dreamy eyes looking very inquisitive, "How do you know how Harry snores?" she asked.

Harry seemed flustered, though in her inebriated state Hermione barely registered his expressions. Layla on the other hand, did not seemed bothered at all.

"Oh, Auror work partners often share a room when they work overnight. Though when I say share a room..." Layla chuckled again.

"Layla..." Harry interjected quickly, "Hermione, she's talking about those tiny cubbyholes I told you about. You know."

Tiny cubbyhole. Hermione vaguely remembered Harry describing the temporary sleep rooms they used during work shifts. There were several sleeping bags per cubby, and male female alike had to make do with these tiny spaces for the little sleep they would get. As she tried to visualize what Harry described, Hermione felt like her head was spinning out of control.

Layla suppressed her laugh, "Cubbyholes... really Harry, how cute. You know what they remind me of instead?"

But Hermione never heard the rest of the conversation. Sleep took over; and the next time she woke up, she was in Harry and her bed back in their cozy apartment, with Harry's arms lightly wrapped around her.

The afternoon sunshine dazzled Hermione, and perched at their window was the morning owl, bearing a letter for her in its beak.


	8. A walk among ruins

**Author's notes: **Thank you for the reviews! It's very encouraging. This next chapter reminds me of the soundtracks from the movie Amelie, by Yann Tiersen. The song featured is Track 7: Guilty.

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**Chapter Eight: A walk among ruins

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**

_I'd like to meet and apologize for what happened. I'll be waiting.  
- D._

Hermione held her breath for a long while, staring at the two sentences and reading them again and again. Initial D. It was him. There seemed to be a map attached to the letter, but it had a seal on it that said "only thou shalt see". There was a spell cast on it as well; apparently the map was only meant for her. She looked at the clock. It was almost three p.m. When did the letter arrive?

I shouldn't go, was her first thought.  
But she wasn't absolutely sure.

_I'll be waiting, _he said. Hermione felt her cheeks getting hot. His words seemed to her like those from a romantic love letter, sent to her by a distraught lover. Malfoy, her lover?

She turned and looked at her husband who was peacefully sleeping with a small smile on his lips. Maybe he was dreaming. He was all sprawled out on the bed, comfortably lying on his belly.

"Harry... Harry," Hermione nudged him. She should tell him.

"Hmm," Harry mumbled sleepily, "what..."

"Malfoy wants to see me, to apologize for what happened last time."

Harry seemed very out of it, his eyes only half-opened, "...Don't go... might be a trap..."

She had thought of that. But rash as it may sound, she didn't think it was a set-up. Something about the way Malfoy wrote the letter... she trusted him. And then she blushed again.

Was this some kind of crazy excuse I'm giving myself to see someone I'm possibly still infatuated with? That can't be it. But then... there was this urge within her. Suddenly, she found herself decided on this. Even though the past two weeks had been peaceful, she wasn't at peace in her heart. She needed to know whether she had judged Malfoy wrong or not. She wanted to know. She wanted to see him. Besides, maybe now Sullivan would not glare at her disappointedly every time she walked pass his office.

"I'm going, Harry. I need to know what I said that upsetted him so much. It'll be a chance for me to make up for failing at my mission last time too."

Harry mumbled something about having a bad hangover and not being up for discussion right now.

She sighed and went around getting herself ready. It wasn't the first time she had woken up with a hungover Harry mumbling in bed, though on other days she had woken up far earlier. After preparing her special blend of hangover-curing drink for him, she wrote a note to Harry explaining why she had to go and left them on the kitchen counter with a wrapped sandwich for lunch. Risky or not, she was going. She needed to know.

x x x

It took her a while to figure out the spell to release the seal on the folded map. When she finally did though, it opened up to reveal a picturesque hand-drawn map with pop-up paper cut figures of trees, streets and buildings. There were even lampposts with tiny road signs on them, and the road signs enlarged when Hermione tapped at them with her wand. She flew south on her broom, as the map directed her. _Turn right here_, a line of ink wrote on the map, as she reached the intersection it indicated. What a helpful map, she thought to herself as she compared the buildings drawn on the map to the real equivalent.

I wonder if Malfoy made it himself, because I'm sure impressed.

Soon the scenery around her began to change from city to countryside. There were rarely any houses around, except the occasional farm barn. The area was very pleasant. The wind tingled her cheeks as she flew on, her hair flowing freely behind her in the cool wind. Soon she found herself flying through an endless meadow of golden flowers, the air smelled sweet and tasty. She was surprised that she had never visited this place before. It wasn't too far from the city. In the map, a few miles from the fringe of the city, the structure of what seemed like a castle ruin popped up. A red cross formed and floated atop the drawing of the ruins. The line of ink now wrote _Destination: Moonstone Café, Castle Ruins_.

Moonstone Café. I guess a coffee shop wouldn't be a bad place to meet. She began to see the ruins in the distance, and soon saw what looked like a more modern tiny structure to its side. That must be it. She folded the map and flew down. She felt uneasy and nervous. She kept her wand out in case this really was an ambush attempt. It was hard to decide whether it was the adrenaline from flying, or the idea that she would be seeing Malfoy again soon that was causing her heart to beat so fast. A pan of guilt hit her again. I'm not infatuated with him, she repeated to herself in her head. I just want to talk to him, resolve the tension. That's all.

It was a log house made of a deep red wood, and Hermione fell in love with the place the moment she landed at its front door. To the side was a circle of potted plants, with a small pile of stones gathered in the middle. When she looked carefully, Hermione saw that among randomly scattered grey stones, was a line of white stones with unusual shapes. It took her a moment to realize they were letters.

_MOONSTONE CAFE_

Very pretty. Turning the doorknob she went inside; a bell tinkled above her as she did so. A strong smell of coffee came from within. She combed through her wind-blown hair with her fingers and hastily straightened her dress as she closed the door behind her. And soon she lowered her wand; there was nothing suspicious about the place. In fact, she liked it already.

Inside, the café looked just as charming. Dimly-lit orange lamp lights in flower-shaped glass lined up along yellow walls that were painted with intricate patterns of black and brown. The windows were made of old imperfect glass, causing the soft sunlight coming through to form shadows on the tables and the wood-planked floors, shimmering and glistening in rainbow colors. A smiling man at the counter welcomed her warmly. He had a tiny grey moustache and friendly twinkling eyes. They reminded Hermione of the bell that rang on the door just then.

In the background she could hear what sounded like an old record player playing an accordion piece with a piano accompanying. The music reminded Hermione of a place she used to get pancakes with her parents when she was young, before she discovered she was a witch. It was nostalgic. And she felt warm and hollow at the same time; those younger days will never return. It reminded her of being at Hogwarts with Malfoy, those first few months when they were still happy. As she scanned the room, she noticed him, sitting in a comfortable corner of the shop, his eyes gazing at her tenderly.

No, I'm imagining things. There's no meaning to how he's looking at me.

She shook the thought away and tried to get herself together. It was easier when he wasn't right there, sitting in front of her. No matter how he may had acted towards her the last time they met, she forgave him the moment she saw him again. In fact, remembering what she had exactly said to him that night, calling him incompetent and all... she felt awful.

I was rude.

She sat down opposite him, though she had yet to look at him directly. A young waiter brought her a steaming cup of coffee soon after.

"This is our staple, miss. Directly imported from Brazil. We hope you'd enjoy it," the waiter said with a smile as he oriented the cup in front of her and placed a tiny cup of cream next to it.

Hermione smiled back and thanked him.

"I'm sorry for how rude I was that night..." she said, as soon as the waiter was gone.

Malfoy shook his head as he poured himself more coffee, "That's alright. I wasn't all that nice myself. I meant to apologize to you... But I didn't quite know how to find you again."

It was a 'coincidence' that they met last time. Hermione wouldn't have known how to look for Malfoy either. And yet, he made the effort to try, and sent her an owl. Remembering the letter almost made her blush again. Hermione absentmindedly glided a finger along the rim of the coffee cup as she sat there in silence. There were so many things she had wanted to say, she had wanted to ask. But the way he was looking at her... she could feel his soft gaze on her. Suddenly she couldn't think straight. Why did he want to see me again after what happened? The question repeated in her mind over and over.

She's so quiet today. Malfoy felt a strange sense of longing for the woman sitting before him. She felt so distant when she didn't speak. The way a strand of her wavy long hair fell in front of her eyes... her long eyelashes, fluttering slowly and seductively... her slender fingers sliding along the glazed porcelain cup, looking distracted and... what was it? Was she possibly... blushing? Or maybe her cheeks were pink from being blown in the wind on the way here. He couldn't tell. He had wondered whether she would still be angry with him, if she might burst into the coffee shop and give him a piece of her mind again. And he was bracing himself for the blow, hoping to calm her down and maybe, just maybe, start from the beginning again, as... friends. _Friends_, was that what he wanted?

But when she finally came through the door, what was it that he felt? He felt like... like she had come here to find her date. That can't be true, can it? Hermione Granger, genuinely excited to see me, a Malfoy?

Their eyes met, and this time, he was positive that her cheeks got a little redder. He almost smiled. It can't be.

"Your coffee's getting cold, Granger," he said nonchalantly, picking a biscuit from the assorted desserts that he had ordered for them earlier, "Is something bothering you?"

"Oh..." Hermione woke up from her trance-like state and mumbled, "I guess... I guess I've been wondering, why you got so upset with Symon... You said I didn't understand. And I wanted to know... whether you wanted to tell me about it."

Malfoy was just about to bite into the biscuit, and he stopped. He frowned slightly and spoke, placing the biscuit back on his plate, "I guess it's unavoidable that you'd ask."

Hermione's hands in her lap clenched in concern. Malfoy's frown had deepened, there was clearly more to the story than it seemed.

"I shouldn't have hit him..." Malfoy continued, with remorse in his voice, "but Symon and I..." he stopped to think about what he was saying, "unlike what you may think, well, we're not on good terms for a good reason. Let's just leave it at that. I can't tell you more than that right now... I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head, indicating that it was fine. Their eyes met again, and Hermione noticed that his eyes looked sad like that night when they had fought.

"Maybe there'll come a day when I can share it with you," Malfoy said somberly, looking away towards the window.

What pains you so? It was frustrating not to know. The cheery instrumental music in the background had changed unbeknownst to her to an old song sung by a male singer with a deep rich voice. Even though he sounded carefree, when she listened to the words, they made her sad.

_Is it a sin  
Is it a crime  
Loving you dear like I do?  
If it's a crime then I'm guilty  
Guilty of loving you_

_ Maybe I'm wrong dreaming of you  
Dreaming the lonely night through  
If it's a crime then I'm guilty  
Guilty of dreaming of you _

"Do you want to take a walk?" Malfoy asked as he stood up from the table, giving his hand to her courteously.

His sudden suggestion after a long moment of silence startled her. She looked outside, where the golden meadow was within arms reach. It was a beautiful day. She turned to look at him and his hand that was still offered to her. She smiled and complied, taking his hand as she stood up.

"I'd love some fresh air too."

He smiled, the sadness in his eyes faded away.

Outside Moonstone Cafe, the gentle early summer breeze felt good on their skin. It was almost May. Flowers were in full bloom and the chirping of birds and crickets formed a soothing chorus. The two of them stood there for a while, taking in the beautiful scenery surrounding them. Hermione closed her eyes and sucked in lungs-full of fresh air.

"This place is... incredible. I feel so rested here," Hermione said with a happy sigh as she opened her eyes, "the golden meadow is my favorite part."

Malfoy smiled, "It's my secret spot. The city's really gloomy these days, but this place never changes..." He turned around to look at the coffee shop, "Max, the owner here with the mustache? He's completely removed from the war. It's nice because people think of this place as kind of a wasteland, a castle ruin that is useless now."

"Really?" Hermione asked as they started to walk aimlessly around the area, it felt nice.

"I guess it didn't seem like he gets a lot of customers... he seems like he's enjoying himself though," she said.

Malfoy smiled and agreed, "Nobody's ever bothered to check out his place, which is fine by me. It's not much of a secret spot if everyone knows about it."

Hermione glanced at him, "And you let me in on your secret."

Malfoy smirked his trademark smirk, "Yea, you should feel special."

It made her blush, she had to look away briefly to compose herself. Malfoy noticed and chuckled, "You know, with the way you blush when you're around me, Granger. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hopelessly in love with me."

She turned back to face him immediately.

"You are so full of yourself, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, going all scarlet.

She's so cute all flushed up, he thought to himself, except if I tell her that now she'd probably explode on me.

"Sorry, Granger. It's just so easy," he said with such a sly smirk, "I can't help myself."

Hermione gave him a dangerous look, he backed off with a laugh and they kept walking. Behind the coffee shop was the remaining ruins of a 16th century castle. Thick vines twirled and grew along the crumbling mossy stone walls. Squirrels were sprinting up and down the fallen blocks, and Hermione found a bird's nest in one of the many holes in the building. They walked up and down the castle ruins, talking about nothing and everything. The topic of the war or what they do in their day-to-day lives never came up. Maybe the thought of having to lie about them subconsciously stopped them from doing so, but neither felt the need to poke or prod. They were happy the way they were, strolling in the countryside, relaxing and exploring. Finally they found themselves on the tallest tower of the castle's old fort, looking out at the shimmering horizon where land met sea.

"Are we safe up here?" Hermione questioned in concern, her footsteps unsteady on the terrace.

"You're fine, Granger," Malfoy calmed her, giving her a hand, "I've been here at least a thousand times."

"You're lying," Hermione said defiantly, taking his hand and finally standing straight next to him.

"Of course I am," he chuckled.

The view was breathtaking. The sun was slowly setting at the horizon, the sky turning crimson and orange. Far beyond were the outline of geese flying across the sky. The wind whispered in the long grass that rustled and wavered in unison. They stood there together, without a word, staring at the beauty surrounding them. Neither realized they were still holding each other's hands lightly.

"I wish every day could be like this," Malfoy said with a low voice, as if not to interrupt the serene moment.

Hermione looked out at the horizon and nodded. She understood what he meant. All this darkness, gloominess, the war surrounding them. She looked up at him, he was a good half a head taller than her. His eyes were still focused on the horizon, grey eyes reflecting the orange sunset. He could be working for the Dark Lord. That spine-tingling thought went through her head. And yet, this calmness she felt standing next to him. She just simply couldn't explain. She had yet to know whether he was an enemy. But right now... she felt at peace, she didn't know him but she understood him. A strange kind of unspoken trust between them. She wasn't afraid. Nothing could hurt her next to him.

He turned to look at her too. At first glance, Hermione wasn't the most stunning-looking diva around. But when he stood there, looking into her clear beautiful eyes, he felt her sincerity, her warmth. She doesn't belong to me, he reminded himself. But right now, this moment... I have her, and she has me.

It was a special moment they shared. And both of them knew that it was a moment neither of them would share with anyone else. It was theirs only, and theirs only it will stay.


	9. Tainted

**Chapter Nine: Tainted**

* * *

_"What do you have for me, My Lord?"  
"Intriguing question, Draco... What could I have for you? It seems that you have been leading quite an interesting life lately."  
_Malfoy froze at his words._ That rat bastard, ratting on me.  
"I see... something you don't want to discuss, is it?"  
_Malfoy was using Occulmency at his best. But of course, even using it meant something._  
"Your family has been very loyal to me, Draco... though you also have... a tendency to... fail."  
_He was talking about his father, Lucius.

_Don't forget your place, Draco.  
_Really, that was what He was saying to him.

x x x

"That was dangerous of you, Hermione, to go with your guard down," Harry was very upset with Hermione for leaving without discussing with him, "What if it was a trap? You need to be more conscious of who Draco Malfoy is, and what it means to be acquainted with him at a time like this."

"But you were hung over. I had to go, Harry," she protested, and then her voice trailed away, "I wanted to..."

"You're saying that this is more than a mission to you, Hermione?" Harry asked defiantly. The thought disgusted him.

"He was a friend of mine at Hogwarts, Harry. Of course it's more than a mission to me."

"Only briefly, I don't know if you can call what you had with him a friendship."

_But I did care for him._

"And he got the Dark Mark, remember?" he reminded her of Malfoy's show of loyalty to the Dark Side back when they were teenagers.

"I know," Hermione did not know how to explain why she trusted Malfoy even so, "But I've come home twice safely, Harry. Yes, he's hit his house elf and has been rude to me about it, but he's made an effort to see me, just to apologize... Besides, he hasn't shown any direct sign of animosity towards me. He even talks about the war like it is a shame that it's happening. Doesn't that say something about Malfoy's character?"

"Or that he's contrite because he's involved."

There was no talking him out of it.

"I don't want to think what could have happened to you today, Hermione. You really shouldn't have just gone with it. You could have suggested a different time and date with Malfoy, take more control over the situation," he said as he took off the baggy shirt he was wearing and pulled on a tighter white T-shirt.

"If you cared about your mission at all, you should have contacted Sullivan to regroup. At least that's how we do things in my line of work."

That was true. Hermione didn't have anything to say to that. It was a moment of urge that she did what she did. And in a way, Harry was right. If her judgements were wrong, it could have gotten her kidnapped or something worse. She was THE Harry Potter's wife, as Sullivan often liked to remind her. She could imagine Sullivan saying it to her haughtily, as if she were supposed to feel appreciative that he recognized her worth through her marriage.

Someone knocked at the door. Harry threw on a jacket, "That's Layla. I have work tonight." He walked over to open the door, "There were some Death Eaters spotted downtown."

"Hey, Harry. Time to go," Layla somberly nodded at Hermione as a greeting. She looked like such a different person in her cargo pants and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. There were no dangling accessories on her today, no miniskirts. It was work time.

"I won't be back soon... but really, get in touch with Sullivan about Malfoy," Harry said, "Though in my opinion… you really shouldn't get involved in him again." Layla looked inquisitive. She had heard about Hermione's mission from Harry before, but seeing Malfoy again? That was something new.

Hermione couldn't tell what exactly bothered Harry more. _Because I'm confusing work with my private life? Because associating myself with a Malfoy is dangerous?_

Harry stopped at the door before leaving, turning back to her, "Love... I just don't want you to get hurt."

He did not say emotionally or physically. Truth was, he was worried about both. As far as he knew, Draco Malfoy had never cared about another human being.

He walked back into the room and held Hermione in his arms, "You're all I've got Hermione, I don't want to give him a chance to do anything to you." _Or take you from me,_ he said silently to himself. He could not deny that he was jealous. He held her just a little tighter before letting go.

Hermione looked back at him with round puzzled eyes as he and Layla left the apartment. She did not know what to do. A part of her wanted to contact Sullivan, so she can be back on the mission track again. But another part of her wished all this to stay private.

_Is it impossible to just be normal acquaintances with him? All I want is an honest friendship. ...really?_ She remembered how both Malfoy and she got self-conscious when they realized they were holding hands earlier that day. Neither felt it was unnatural until reality kicked in. _This is wrong_, Hermione had thought to herself. And she had quietly let go, looking away. Malfoy coughed superficially, putting his hands in his pockets.

_I've made all this so complicated._

And then she thought of what Harry said, the way he distrusted Malfoy. But all that was reasonable. It was exactly why she was involved in this mission in the first place.

_Well in that case... I'll prove them wrong, show them that Malfoy is in the clear. But... is he?_

That was the truth of it, wasn't it. She instinctively trusted him, but objectively speaking, there were enough suspicious things going on around Malfoy that she couldn't convince anyone, even herself at times.

_I should see Sullivan._ Hermione sighed, she thought about the setting sun and the enchanting scenery she saw only that day with Malfoy. That pure calm feeling they both felt out there.

That feeling wouldn't return after she had met with Sullivan. She knew no less than that.

x x x

Sullivan was delighted, though he did not approve of Hermione having seen Malfoy before his permission.

"I can't take responsibility for your recklessness, young lady. Next time, report report report. Am I clear?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good. Good job though... I don't know how you did it. Charmed the man, huh? Didn't think you'd turn out to be a seductress," sometimes Sullivan's distasteful attitude really annoyed Hermione.

She was excused from his office. As she turned the corner, she found Layla drinking from the water fountain. She was still in the same outfit from the night before.

"Hey."

"Ho, Hermione," Layla responded, wiping water droplets off her lips.

"Back from work?"

"Yea... long night," Layla sighed, sitting down on the cushioned bench in the lobby. She covered her eyes, looking exhausted.

_She's still so young._ Layla looked like a little boy in her work clothes, with her nice figure showing only slightly. It was hard to think that the same girl that danced around happily at the bar only two nights ago also roamed the streets last night, dueling some of the most skillful Death Eaters around. If these were better times, she may not have been involved in such chaos. She could have enjoyed her life like how a teenager should be.

"What made you decide to be an Auror, Layla?" Hermione asked. She had wondered for a while, what drove people into such a risky occupation. For Harry it wasn't hard to understand... you could say that he had a personal vendetta against Lord Voldermort.

Layla didn't say anything for a moment, then finally whispered, "I had a twin sister, Ariel."

_A twin sister._

"...She was in training with me," she said as she sat up, "We've always wanted to become Aurors. Both our parents were involved in the previous war. They got this... delayed curse, and died a few years after the war. Dad went first, but mum... well not before she gave birth to the both of us."

Layla's eyes were focused somewhere far away. Hermione suddenly understood that Layla's perkiness at the bar was her defense mechanism. It explained the stark difference between her attitude at and outside work. Like Harry, she was a war orphan. Her reasons were more personal than Hermione had imagined.

"'Had' a twin sister..." Hermione said softly, "What happened to her?"

"...remember the attack on an Auror training camp two years ago?" Layla asked, turning to her.

Hermione recalled the terrifying day. Harry was an assistant trainer there.

"They got Ariel that night... my sister... my best friend... I'll never forgive them." Her voice was charged with such anger.

"I'm sorry, Layla. I had no idea..." Hermione regretted bringing up such a horrible experience for her.

But Layla, even though evidently upset, did not mind talking about her late familiy.

"It keeps me going, Hermione. I don't ever want to forget them. I'm glad you're back on your mission too. I know Harry's upset but in war... sometimes, you have to sacrifice some things for the greater good... I respect you, Hermione." she smiled compassionately.

Pang of guilt. It was to stop having more people experience what Layla did, losing her family and closest friend, that they were all fighting so hard against the Dark Lord. And Hermione's mission was a part of that bigger picture. The graveness of the situation finally sunk in and Hermione became determined. She would spy on Malfoy and find out how Symon was related in all this. Another pang of guilt. How could she? The thought of betraying Malfoy pained her too.

x x x

A few days later, Hermione received a letter from Malfoy.

_I just learnt from Symon that you left your handkerchief with him last time.  
IF you would like it back, you are cordially invited to dinner with me at my place tomorrow night. I promise I'll be civil this time.  
- D._

This time, she went straight to Charles and informed him of the invitation.

"Took him this long to realize his house elf had someone else's clothing material? Impossible," Charles laughed.

Hermione shrugged, though inside she felt like smiling. She knew Malfoy too well not to understand that he was intentionally withholding her belongings as an excuse to see her again. The way he wrote the letter - "_IF you would like it back_" - he was flirting with her, and teasing her. She can even picture him doing so in her head.

_Come on Hermione Granger, you know you're coming not because of a silly handkercheif. You just wanted to see me, didn't you?_

She chuckled silently at that thought, while Charles called up his assistant to get Hermione dressed nicely.

"Charles..." Hermione tried to stop him, "I think I can just wear what I have."

Charles thought about it for a moment, "Good point... well, how about you bring here whatever you think you should be wearing, and my assistant can help you adjust if necessary? I mean you've come this far, I'm sure there aren't any problems..."

Hermione nodded, she felt like she was at some matchmaker's dating preparation lecture.

"More importantly," Charles now sounded more serious, "From here on, there's no knowing when Malfoy would realize what your real intentions are. I want you to have this, in case of an emergency."

He passed her a stress stone across his desk, something that Hermione had only seen once before. An informer from the Dark Alliance that was caught in the Ministry had one. It was a palm-sized flat cold piece of stone that turned warm instantly when squeezed. All Hermione had to do was to squeeze it tight to call for help, there wouldn't be a clear signal like a shot of sparkle from her wand for all her enemies to see. Only Charles would know it.

"Thank you, Charles," Hermione said. She knew if she'd ever use the stress stone it would be only once, either when her life was in danger, or when she discovered Malfoy was indeed a rogue.

"I hope you'll never need to use this," Charles responded, as if reading her mind.

"Good luck."

Hermione was excused. The stone was so light, and yet, the burden was so heavy.


	10. Slow dancing in a burning room

**Author's notes: **The title of this chapter was taken from a song of the same name by John Mayer.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Slow dancing in a burning room**

* * *

_My beloved son,  
I miss you._

_I think about you every day. I worry that you are lonely without us._  
_Bella says that your father is still at work far away._  
_I hope he is safe and doing well. I miss him so._  
_I hope you think of him often too._  
_Bella is taking good care of me._

_My headache seems to be getting better lately._  
_I hope you have been courting Lady Antonette's beautiful daughter well._  
_She would be a wonderful addition to our family._  
_Please visit sometime. I want to hold my dear boy again._

_Thinking of you always,  
Mother_

It was not long past seven when Hermione arrived at the Malfoy Manor's door. She was half an hour early to the agreed time.

_Knock knock knock._

There was no movement for a while. Maybe I came too early, she thought to herself. She had been so nervous all day that she was dressed up way before she needed to. After sitting about and reading academic articles all afternoon to calm her nerves (her idea of a _light_ reading), Hermione decided she could not wait any longer. And here she was, at Malfoy's door, without an answer.

As she began to consider taking a walk and returning in time, the door creaked open just very slightly.

"Master?" asked Symon, poking half his head out of the tiny crack he let open. He looked worried at first when he saw the hem of Hermione's dress, and then he looked up, only to look visibly relieved.

"Mistress... Mistress Granger!" he exclaimed.

"Hello, Symon," she greeted him with a smile.

Symon hastily pushed the main entrance wide open. He was such a nervous wreck, it made Hermione feel bad for surprising him.

Hermione thanked him and apologized for arriving too soon. "I hope I'm not causing any trouble here."

Symon shook his head fiercely, "No, Mistress Granger! I am sorry young master is not home yet..." his voice trailed off.

Hermione took off her shoes once Symon closed the door behind them. He skittered to her feet and neatly lined up her shoes, and then he proceeded to help her with hanging up her shawl.

"Thank you, Symon. You're very kind."

Symon beamed, "It is my pleasure, Mistress Granger." He guided her down the hallway.

Hermione followed him, and then suddenly realizing something, she said to Symon, "And by the way, Symon. You can call me Hermione."

Symon stopped in his jittery footsteps and turned to her, a look of awe on his face.

"But I can't! I shouldn't!" he squeaked, "Not even Master calls you by your first name!"

Hermione chuckled, "Well, I guess we'll just have to change that."

Symon looked intrigued by her proposition, he continued to take her through the house to the guest lounge.

As soon as they reached the room, Symon guided her to a comfortable looking couch and asked her to sit down. Before Symon can go and get her refreshments, Hermione asked in curiosity, "So Symon, where did Malfoy go?"

It was a good time to make more conversation with the house elf before Malfoy returned.

Symon fumbled his claw-like fingers, obviously wondering how much he should be disclosing to her.

"I cannot say, Mistress Her...Hermione," He tried to start getting used to calling her by her first name.

Hermione was disappointed with his answer but smiled approvingly_. _It would take a while to have him call her without the honorific, but this was a start.

And then he quickly added, "But Master really likes you! But don't tell Master that Symon said that... Symon doesn't think he is supposed to tell."

Hermione had no idea what Malfoy liking her had to do with him not being home yet. She chuckled, "Why did you tell me then?"

Symon fumbled again, and then after a deep breath, he said, "Because Master needs Mistress Hermione... even though he does not know... And Master will protect Mistress Hermione. Even if it causes him his life, he will."

"His life? Malfoy's?" Hermione was shocked how suddenly the conversation went from something rather light to death.

Symon looked nervous, "I... I...! Master will not die, Mistress Hermione. Symon was just... exaggerating..." his voice trailed off, and he disapparated, hurriedly saying that he would bring her some refreshments.

She was so confused.

It did not take very long before Symon returned with a glass of wine. He came close to her, placing the glass on the counter next to the couch's arm, where Hermione was sitting close to. As he skittered off the counter back onto the carpeted floor, Hermione noticed a few recent-looking curse scars on Symon's belly.

She gasped.

Symon looked up in puzzlement.

"Who did this to you, Symon? Who tortured you?" she came close to him in concern. Symon, realizing what she was pointing at, instinctively hid the scars.

"Oh Mistress Hermione! I am sorry. Symon is sorry for being indecent!" he squealed and curled up into a ball, visibly upset.

"I'm sorry Symon, I didn't mean to upset you..." Hermione apologized with a sad frown, "Could these be... could Malfoy..." She did not want to say the rest.

Symon's ears bolted up and he quickly turned to her again, "No. NO NO NO! Young master would never NEVER do this to Symon... Master has a short temper... but Master NEVER hits! That time... last time... that was a mistake. Master is good to Symon... he is not like her... he is good to Symon..." Symon rocked back and forth in distress.

Hermione tried to comfort him, she felt bad for Symon for being so apologetic for someone else. It was so ingrained into a house elf's life to be on their master's side. But then, she also felt that Symon genuinely cared for Malfoy. He sincerely did not want Hermione to misunderstand his master.

A thought struck Hermione then.

"Symon, you said Malfoy 'is not like her'... who is she?"

Symon's eyes went wide. He realized he had spilled more than he should have. After banging his head on the ground repeatedly despite Hermione's plea for him to stop, he finally said under his breath, moving exceptionally close to Hermione's face, "Please PLEASE MISTRESS HERMIONE, don't mention this to the young master... Master does not know. Master should not know. Master cannot... Cannot..."

Hermione was flabbergasted.

It was then that the front door creaked. Symon immediately turned around and disapparated. Apparently he had apparated to the front door. Hermione could hear Malfoy's conversation with him.

"I'm home, is Granger here yet?" Malfoy's voice sounded tired.

"Yes, Master," Symon said laconically, hiding his excitement from earlier on very well. If Malfoy noticed anything strange, he did not sound like he showed it.

Hermione heard Malfoy's footsteps coming towards the lounge, "She's in here?"

Malfoy did not wait for Symon's response. Hermione stood up in anticipation; the door opened and the young blonde man walked in. It had only been a few days since Hermione had seen Malfoy, but she found herself already feeling that release of heartache when one has missed someone for a long time and finally gets to see him or her. Again she noted to herself how that was an inappropriate feeling to have for Malfoy, and yet... it was impossible to lie to herself. She had missed him in the short time they had not seen each other.

_You're insane, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. As always, Malfoy looked composed and unaffected. _Why am I the only one here being so neurotic?_ She was sure her conversation with Symon only a few minutes ago had something to do with her state of mind.

_But really, freezing up and not being able to take my eyes away from him? This is too much._

Malfoy on the other hand, still felt a little uptight and nervous, though his upbringing had trained him to hide it pretty well. He had a very long day... a day he'd rather forget. As a host he knew he should be saying something nice and welcoming by now, but all he could bring himself to say was, "Would you like to move to the dining room?"

He gestured to Symon, who opened the door wide.

She nodded and followed them out of the lounging area. Malfoy recomposed himself with a short cough and took a peek at the woman beside him as they walked down the long corridor to his inner dining room. There was nothing too extravagant to what Hermione was wearing, just a simple wine-red dress with thin straps on the shoulders and a dark scarf twisted into a hair-do on the back of her head. Malfoy found the simple elegance of the way she dressed even more attractive than how she had dressed that night at the opera house. Strands of wavy hair adorned the contour of her face as always, hiding her reflecting eyes just slightly from the side. It was alluring.

"It's good to see you, Granger," Malfoy said in sincerity. It felt so strange how he felt so relaxed just by being next to her. He was stressed out just a moment ago.

A small smile crept onto Hermione's lips, "Thank you for having me," she responded, turning to him slightly to look into his eyes with a smile.

Their eyes met, and Malfoy smiled too. Her graceful disposition was calming. Such a strange woman, Malfoy thought to himself. One day she is this emotional creature who speaks her mind like no other; next time you see her, she dances around the meadow like a little girl, and tonight... tonight she's the most elegant lady I know.

As they reached the dining room, Hermione stopped short of the door. Malfoy turned around and looked at her, wondering what she was up to. She scanned him up and down quickly and said, "Did you dress up for tonight's dinner, Malfoy? Or was this from today? I feel underdressed."

Hermione noted the expensive-looking attire he was wearing. Malfoy looked at his garbs briefly and then looked at her, "Well, this was when I was meeting with my fiance earlier today... anyway, it doesn't matter," he stopped short in the description of his day and instead asked her, "Would you rather if I changed?"

Symon poked his head out from behind Malfoy, looking as if he were checking whether Hermione was still happy. So this was what Symon was talking about. He thought she would be jealous if she found out who Malfoy was meeting. Possibly Symon did not know that Hermione was married already. Oh how scandalous all this would be if Hermione was jealous. In fact, she was, just a little bit. She would never admit to it though.

"I'd rather spend time with a comfortable Malfoy than one who's stiff in a suit and tired. It's your call though."

The idea was strange to Malfoy, but he chuckled and said "Alright, I'll get changed right away. Symon, will you show Granger to her seat?"

Symon complied and led Hermione to one end of a long dinner table.

"Mistress Hermione..." he began as soon as Malfoy was out of ear shot.

Hermione nodded in understanding, "Don't worry, I won't mention it."

Symon looked at her with such grateful eyes.

"Thank you, Mistress Hermione... Symon does not like it when Master is upset..." he said with such sadness, his head drooped down.

She looked at him sympathetically.

She then looked around at the dinner table, another set of utensils were laid down at the other end. She looked down at Symon, "Symon, is it okay if we moved my seat to the other end of the table?"

Symon didn't seem to comprehend so she explained, "I just think this is too prim, I think Malfoy would enjoy a more personable meal," she smiled encouragingly.

Symon beamed, quickly rearranging the dinner table. Whatever it was that led Malfoy to treat Symon coldly at times, Hermione felt the little house elf's undying devotion to his master. He was the one who was seriously injured, and yet he only spoke of his master's feelings...

Over in his own bedroom, Malfoy was taking off his suit and changing into something 'more comfortable'.

I'd rather spend time with a comfortable Malfoy, she had said.

He couldn't figure her out. Never had a woman said such a thing to him, every one of them preferred nice outfits, cologne and expensive meals. Hermione Granger, this woman. She just managed to throw him off every time. And also, what is comfortable attire in the presence of a guest anyway? He looked in his wardrobe. A Malfoy only owned two kinds of clothing. The formal ones for public places, and the bathrobes and nightgowns for private time. Surely she did not mean for him to have dinner with her in his bathrobe, did she?

He picked out a black button-up shirt with fine silver stripes.

I guess I won't wear a tie.

When he walked back into the dining room he was taken aback again, this time by where Hermione was sitting. She was not where he expected her to be. She had made herself comfortable next to his usual seat.

"What happened here?" Malfoy asked, puzzled as he sat down at his seat.

Hermione chuckled as she and Symon gave each other sneaky looks, "We just thought dinner can be more relaxing this way."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. He'd never sat this close to another person at his house's dinner table unless it was necessary, namingly having at least twenty guests at a time. Though then he remembered that his family used to bring out the larger longer dinner table when such an occasion arose. No, he had never sat this close to someone else having a meal at home. Symon began serving the appetizers. Hermione looked pleased with their first dish, she looked comfortable alright. But Malfoy still wasn't sure if this was his idea of being comfortable.

x x x

"So where is Hermione tonight?" Ron asked after he had chugged his fifth can of beer down.

Harry and Layla looked at each other meaningfully. Harry did not respond and took a quick shot of whiskey. Layla lowered her eyes, sipping at her drink.

"What, is it a secret or something?"

Neither responded.

"Oh come on guys, I thought secrets were just from the two of you!" Ron threw his arms in the air in defiance, "I understand that you guys can't talk about work, and trust me I'd rather you not. But Hermione? She's just on sabbatical, doing research! Please don't tell me she's working so late into the night."

Ron pictured a hard-working Hermione, exactly like how she was at Hogwarts, studiously doing homework.

"On second thought... I can completely see her writing and reading right now. She should come out here more often though, don't you think?"

Layla tried to change the topic, "Yea, I'm sure she's just busy... Hey Ron, you want to check out the pool table? I've become an expert in the past few weeks!"

"You're joking," Ron didn't seem convinced, quickly challenging her to a playoff. He seemed to have forgotten about Hermione already.

Harry rubbed his hair and sighed, his head sinking into his folded arms. His friends left him alone for a while and he thought he may fall asleep, but not long after, Layla came waltzing across the room.

"Harry, stop being a poopy head," Layla said, kicking his chair with her high heels just enough to give him a wake up shake, "You need to cheer up."

Harry grunted, still not looking at her, "Leave me alone, Layla. My wife is having fun with some rich ferret. Let me mull over it."

"You sound unbelievably drunk for only having had two shots of whiskey, Harry," Layla teased him.

"I'm sorry I'm bitter," Harry apologized sarcastically.

This time Layla really kicked his chair hard, "HEY."

It got Harry to turn around to look at her directly.

"What."

"I'm not allowed to be stressed out in my off time, and neither are you. I thought we agreed on that."

They had, long time ago when Layla had just started working as an Auror. It was Harry's way of encouraging her to keep a bright outlook on life despite the nature of her work.

Harry smiled for the first time that night, albeit a partially sarcastic smile.

"Fine, Layla. You win," he got off his seat, hands up in the air, "Show me your pool table skills."

Layla winked at him with a cheeky smile, "Oh you bet I'll show you."

x x x

The close proximity at dinner surprisingly did not bother Malfoy at all after a while. In fact, he started to enjoy it quite a bit. Hermione constantly taunted Malfoy over their meal, saying that Symon definitely favored her over him because she got a larger portion of food each time. Malfoy pointed out that Symon had in fact specially prepared his favorite garnish for him at his request, and hearing so Hermione reached out and stole a piece off his plate. Malfoy retaliated by smudging Hermione's nose with a blob of whip cream during dessert. She squealed like a little girl, which mildly amused Malfoy. Then when Hermione did not give in and returned the favor, Malfoy could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. A food fight, he would have never even imagined having one at his family's dinner table.

The two of them ended up laughing so hard that they felt a little faint. They had a lot to eat for dinner.

"Oh dear... I feel so stuffed right now. Laughing really hurts," Hermione said between gasps of breath.

"I don't think I've ever had anything close to a food fight before, Granger," Malfoy chuckled, trying to regain his composure. He never thought sitting just a few seats closer made such a huge difference. Then again, this was Granger he was spending time with.

Hermione calmed down and then looked at him wonderingly, "Really? Never?"

"Nope," Malfoy said as he handed her his handkerchief, "and Granger, you've got a spot on your cheek."

Hermione wiped the spot of cream off her cheek and chuckled, "You know, you still call me Granger."

Malfoy paused for a moment and thought about it. Right, she was a Potter now.

"Well, what do you prefer me to call you? I wouldn't want to call you Potter as well... it reminds me too much of your wretched other half," he snickered.

"Hey, be respectful. He's my husband," she protested, though it was more so in jest than actual offense.

Malfoy smirked, "Well, I mean. What's your choice? I can call you Potty, or call you Granger like always. Though Potty reminds me of how annoying you were at Hogwarts, and seeing you in public could become a problem with the latter. We wouldn't want people to think I'm flirting with a married woman, now do we?"

Hermione chuckled. As if you weren't already flirting with me when we met at the opera house. She thought about it, and said "Well... I guess you can call me by my name."

Call her by her name?

"What... like... _Hermione_?" Draco stammered, while trying to keep his cool. The sound of her name on his lips sounded strange. It felt too intimate, like he was crossing a dangerous line.

"Yea," Hermione responded, her cheeks blushing just a little, suddenly regretting bringing it up. But is it possible? Malfoy's cheeks seemed a little pink... too.

Symon watched all this from a corner of the table with a sparkle in his eye. Quickly he disapparated without either of them noticing.

Malfoy coughed uneasily, "Well um, I guess I could call you that... only if you do the same for me too." He didn't want to be the only one feeling embarassed.

Hermione blushed more, and nodded.

"Well?" Malfoy said, expecting her to try it.

"...Draco," she said in barely a whisper, instantly blushing at the words. In all the years they had known each other, Hermione had never said his name before. She was thankful that the lights were dim in the room. Oh dear god if he can see how burned up I am right now...

They sat there in silence for a while, the crazy fun they had a moment ago forgotten.

Malfoy felt the need to change topic and move on, "So... what do you do for a living nowadays?" It was a curious question. He knew Potter was an Auror, but he had no idea what Hermione did, "You don't seem like the housewife type." he teased.

Hermione chuckled, she certainly wasn't. And then she thought about what she should say for a moment and responded, "Actually... I am kind of an at-home wife right now... I worked at Hogwarts as a visiting scholar for a few years until not long ago. I'm on sabbatical right now."

It wasn't entirely a lie. She was at Hogwarts until not long ago - not until the Ministry called for her and moved her back to Diagon Alley.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "Hogwarts? Teaching there?" that was interesting.

"Oh yes, well... mostly I was doing research there. But I also replaced Professor Binns when he finally realized... well... that he was dead."

Professor Cuthbert Binns was the History of Magic professor at Hogwarts, he had been a ghost for a long time while teaching, not noticing that he had passed away long ago.

"Professor Binns?" Malfoy was surprised, he had almost forgotten the ghost professor, "He must had been devastated."

"Oh yea... he spent many months hiding in his office. Other professors have spoken of hearing him sobbing in there for a long time." Hermione recalled the gossips among the professors as she swirled the red wine in her glass, "Eventually though, he got over it and now he's back to teaching. I think the revelation was good for him. I found him to be... more lively ever since."

Malfoy was very amused by the irony, "Who would have guessed..."

It was then that Hermione noticed music playing from a different room, she looked up from her glass of wine. Malfoy seemed to have noticed as well; his eyebrows raised a little. He knew whose doing it was.

_That sneaky little house elf..._

Hermione seemed to have realized as well. She briefly looked at Malfoy and looked away again, pretending she did not notice. It was too late, Malfoy saw her glancing at him. A smirk crept onto his lips. He stood up and faced her.

"Would you like to dance?" he bowed slightly, offering her his hand like a gent.

Hermione glanced at the hand he had offered her. she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks as she found herself taking his hand before she could think carefully, and followed him to the living room.

The lights were dim too in the living room. The fire was small and the curtains were open. Only thin translucent drapes veiled the soft moonlight shining in. A lively slightly upbeat music surrounded them as Malfoy guided her to a spot in the room, now taking her other hand and placing it on his shoulder. Hermione's mind went blank as Malfoy pulled her close around the waist, his eyes looking into hers deeply. With him looking directly at her right now, she knew her rosy cheeks were clearly visible.

"Mal..Malfoy, I don't really know how to dance," she confessed, trying to look away from his handsome face. So nervous she was, she forgot that she had just promised to call Malfoy by his first name.

She can barely remember the last time she had danced. She did fine at the Yule Ball back in her fourth year, but that was so long ago, and Hermione wouldn't say she was as bold as she was on the dance floor when she was fourteen anymore.

Malfoy smirked as he watched her blush, "Relax... I've got you," he guided her smoothly with gentle cues, drawing her in and pushing her out. At first Hermione was nervous and stiff, but as she realized she moved effortlessly when she let Malfoy do the guiding, dancing with him became so natural... it felt like second nature. It felt good.

The music reached a climax and Hermione found herself twirling across the room freely, which made her panic briefly only for her to find Malfoy magically appearing next to her again, pulling her in close and tipping her. They both laughed as Malfoy pulled her up straight again, holding her hands.

"That was really fun," Hermione said in between giggles.

Malfoy smiled. The music had changed into one with a sweet mellower melody. Still taking her hands, he placed them each on his shoulders and pulled her close by taking her around her waist. He leaned into her ear.

"Now I'll teach you how to slow dance ...Hermione," he whispered.

His breath on her ear sent shivers up her spine. The way he said her name, she could have melted in his arms then and there.

They gently swayed around the room in silence, his eyes on her soft supple neckline and her cheek against his chest as she bashfully kept her eyes away from his face. Only the silvery music encircled them.

She was so warm and soothing in his arms, Malfoy thought in the back of his mind as he held her.

_It always ends up like this. _

They were suspicious of each other. She was an important person to his enemy. Even though she might not realize who he had become in the past years they hadn't seen each other, he was sure that she felt it too. His alliance. The shadows lurking behind him. And yet, when he was with her... he felt it. That strange sense of calmness, that feeling that nothing else mattered but having her in his arms.

_I feel you letting your guard down. And what scares me most, is that I'm letting mine down too._

Hermione felt her tense body relaxing slowly as they rocked in each other's arms slowly around the room. Her heart suddenly filled with emptiness, holding Malfoy so close. She had wanted this to happen one day, long ago when they became friends in their last year of Hogwarts. She had imagined one day, holding him close and drowning in his warmth. Never did she think, that several years from then, she would actually be dancing with him, feeling his soft breath on her neck and his strong hands holding her close. It felt so good, too good. _I shouldn't be dancing with him like this,_ she thought in the back of her mind. She felt his grip tightened just a little as the music slowly died down. He wanted her. She realized it then. She turned her head towards him slightly to find him gazing at her intently. Her heartbeat rang in her ears. They could feel each other's soft breath on each other's faces. Hermione couldn't think anymore. She closed her eyes and Malfoy leaned in closer. His lips grazed hers ever so slightly, before he changed his mind and kissed her on the cheek. Hermione let out a soft gasp, just barely audible to either of them.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her tenderly, sadly. He gently let go.

"It's late, ...Granger. I'll send you off."

Hermione nodded. She should go home.


	11. Draco

**Chapter Eleven: Draco**

_

* * *

What did I do, what did I do, what in Merlin's name did I think I was doing?_

Malfoy wanted to bang his head into the wall repeatedly like Symon as he lay in bed that night. He lay there for a long while, breathing heavily as he stared at the draped ceiling of his bed. He tried to trace his logic for the actions he took that night. He couldn't. He had never meant to act the way he did.

She's not yours, remember that Draco? She's that Potter's wife. She's not yours, N-O-T Y-O-U-R-S. ...And since when had that stopped you?

He caught himself talking to himself. He felt like such an idiot, and he certainly was not used to feeling as such about a woman.

He remembered having a food fight with her, and then dancing with her, holding her close to him, and then... and then....

He buried his head in his hands. He had went in for a kiss, and then deliberately kissed her on the cheek instead.

When was the last time I'd stopped myself short the last minute? ...Never.

It's a game, just a game. It had always been a game. He reminded himself. Flirting, and then courting, and the rest - all for good fun. He'd enjoy it, the girl would enjoy it too, and it was all good. But what happened tonight, right here at his house... he could not comprehend.

He knew she liked it. Liked dancing in his arms, holding his hand and leaning onto his chest. He certainly liked it too, how warm and soft she felt in his arms. But it was more than that, more than just the body contact that he liked. It was her laughter, so pleasant and heart-warming. It was her shining eyes, her bashful smile. It was her graceful movements, her trembling hand. The way she looked straight into his eyes, and then looked away self-consciously. All the details he'd never noticed about another woman. Or he did, they just never bothered him very much. He had wanted her, and yet... he didn't want to kiss her. She was trembling, she was scared. Why was she scared? And then he came to the realization what must be racing through her head. She was married. Married to another man. Not me. I'll taint her, taint that smile of hers. And as the thought came to him for the second time that night, he groaned in frustration.

Things that had never stopped me from getting what I wanted. And she just came around and shattered all my preconceptions of myself.

He took his hands off his face and looked at the ceiling again. He thought of her, her dark brown eyes looking up at him, affection tangled with confusion.

Hermione.

Her name sounded pleasant on his lips.

Hermione.

He couldn't help himself. How he wished he had kissed her on the lips instead.


	12. Hermione

**Chapter Twelve: Hermione

* * *

**

_Draco._

She said his name in her mind over and over again.

_Draco._

Remembering the touch of his lips, she blushed furiously and rolled over in bed, burying her head in the pillow. When was the last time she had felt like this after a kiss?

It was barely a kiss. It probably only lasted a second, but she could play the whole scene in slow motion in her head. She clearly remembered closing her eyes, anticipating the kiss, and then being surprised and even disappointed when he only grazed pass and kissed her cheek. She remembered opening her eyes to look deeply into those silvery eyes. The unbearable tension building up in her chest. How do you describe that feeling? Looking into his eyes was heartbreaking. It was frustrating, frustrating that she had allowed herself to let her guard down so much. She blamed herself. I should have thought carefully first. I shouldn't have taken his hand. But – but she had wanted to take his hand. She had wanted to kiss him, embrace him. Remembering how he called her Granger instead of her first name when they came to their senses, the polite distance he placed between them, it hurt. She liked the intimacy, and yet a part of her was relieved. Relieved, and yet the aching remained. Hermione curled up into a ball and sighed. She couldn't remember having ever felt so bittersweet for anyone in her life. Not even Harry.

Harry.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. 2:34am. It was another night where Harry did not return before she went to bed. Normally it didn't bother Hermione, but tonight her guilty conscience hurt. Being apart from Harry felt wrong.

Maybe it sounds strange that it never bothered Hermione before, but being physically apart had almost always been a part of their relationship, especially after graduating. For a few years after graduation Hermione had worked at Hogwarts as a visiting scholar, seeing Harry only during long holidays. Harry was in training at the Ministry then and couldn't visit her regularly either. They were so young, both were busily absorbed in their aspirations. Ron used to be quite vocal about his concern for their relationship; he was insistent on Hermione moving close to Diagon Alley. She refused repeatedly. Hogwarts housed hundreds of house elves; there was no other place she knew where she could have direct contact with so many of her study subjects. Harry had his own life goals that he was pursuing, and she had hers. They were quite happy with how things were, it never occurred to Hermione that their lifestyle was a problem.

Even after moving to Diagon Alley, Harry worked so late that Hermione had, in fact, never really gotten used to falling asleep next to someone. She probably remembered more mornings waking up next to Harry than falling asleep next to him. Well anyway, she went to sleep fine. Until tonight.

Tonight she rolled back and forth in bed, trying to decide what she should do about Drac... Malfoy.

Was it too intimate to call him Draco? Was she crossing a line? She sat up in bed, hugging a pillow and pondering. She did feel close to him. People call those they're close to by their names, right? And then she dove into her pillow and groaned. Hermione had never been quite comfortable with her emotions getting the better of her.

And yet... this feeling for... Draco. It filled her senses. It felt warm, tender... sweet, and so confusing. It can't be. I can't be falling for him.

Hermione pushed the pillow off her face and stared at the ceiling. I have to end this. I can't let this happen.

She was decided. I'll have to stop seeing Drac... damn it. I meant, ...Malfoy. I'll have to stop seeing Malfoy.


	13. Trapped

**Chapter Thirteen: Trapped**

* * *

"So where's your wife today, Potter?"

"She's... not feeling well, sir," Harry muffled.

Colin didn't seem convinced. "Well... I wish her well. But tell her she is needed in the office soon. We caught wind of ...well, something important. And ask her if she's heard from Malfoy since."

Colin gave him a sealed note that was supposedly for Hermione. Harry sighed and took it, watching Colin walk away promptly.

"Is Hermione slacking off?" Layla asked, showing up from nowhere, "She's been out for a week, hasn't she?"

Harry jumped back a little, startled by her sudden appearance.

"Sorry to surprise you, I happened to walk by," Layla said with a cheeky grin.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yea right."

Layla chuckled. Harry smiled at first, but then his smile fell back into a frown.

"What's wrong?" Layla asked in concern.

Harry took a moment to answer, "I think... I don't know." He ran his fingers through his messy hair, not knowing how to express himself.

Layla pulled him over to a bench and sat him down, "Here, I'm a good listener."

Harry gave her a mock suspicious look.

"Hey, I really am," she said defensively, pouting like a child.

He smiled and sat down as she instructed him, sighing again. Layla sat next to him, waiting without a word.

After a while, Harry finally spoke, "I think something happened that night... between Hermione and... that guy."

He didn't want to say his name.

"And... well I don't know, because she wouldn't say. But she said... she's not going to see him again. And that I shouldn't worry. But she didn't want to come to work yet because she didn't know how to explain herself to Colin... So she's locked herself up in her study. She said she can work at home just as well as at the office, and she said something about taking a leave from the Ministry. I don't think Colin will back off just like that though."

Layla nodded. Colin never backed off.

"Not to mention Sullivan," Harry continued.

That was true. Sullivan was even more stubborn than their field commander.

Harry sighed again, habitually rubbing his hair. Layla stared at her hands absentmindedly.

"What do you think she wants?"

Harry groaned, "if only I knew."

Layla had some idea, though she certainly did not want to test it on Harry. She had noticed by now that the difficulty with Hermione's mission wasn't as simple as her sacrificing herself and upsetting Harry. Hermione had, at least partially, wanted to see this Malfoy guy. Layla knew nothing of the three's past at Hogwarts, she never went to school there. But she didn't need to know to figure out from the way Harry and Hermione acted that Malfoy wasn't just some guy Hermione was supposed to spy on. They knew each other from before... probably quite well too.

She changed her question instead, "Well... what do you want, Harry?"

Harry stared at his hands now, thinking about it. It would be easier to tell Hermione to quit the job if it weren't for the fact that she was partly willingly doing it. Not that it would be easy to quit when her whole career was built around a research that she would be banned from doing if she quit now. And the part that she was willingly doing it... it pained him. All these years he'd been with Hermione, he'd focused his everything on getting rid of Voldermort... he couldn't help but wonder if he'd neglected her too much. Had she been happy with him? The question was stuck in his mind.

"I want her to be happy..." he confessed slowly.

Layla glanced at him, sympathy in her eyes.

Harry continued painfully, "but lately... I don't think I'm the one doing it for her."

Layla didn't say a word.  
She didn't really know what to say.

x x x

A third letter from him came with an owl today. Hermione still hadn't opened the first or the second. She fought the urge to read them. She knew she'd lose it if she let herself go.

She just couldn't do it.

She thought she would just walk into Sullivan's office. Tell him she couldn't work for them anymore, tell them she needed at least a leave, and that she'd promise not to disclose her research to anyone. But when she went to work the day after that dinner with Draco Malfoy, Hermione became aware how she was stuck without a choice. She had only mentioned lightly that she did not enjoy being a spy - something she did not sign up for at the Ministry - when Sullivan went into a lecture of how she owed her life to the Ministry. Hermione had suspected that for a while; the few house elf scholars that she used to correspond with had either disappeared or were killed a while ago. She knew studying the community of servants of most rich pure-blood families could get her in trouble, but nobody ever told her clearly that studying house elves was a life-threatening occupation.

"You can do what you do without a care for the world only because I've went the extra mile to eliminate any written record of your research from our records AND Hogwart's records. Nobody suspects you because you're fresh out of school, but we know what your brains are worth, Potter - I hope you and your husband are both grateful for that."

In other words, I've extinguished your reputation, nowhere else in the world will hire you, go back and do your job.

Hermione didn't believe it for a single minute, that nowhere else in the world would hire her. Hogwarts would certainly welcome her back. School was a mess now with the war going on, they were desperate to hire new teachers. Then again, nowadays it was hard to say how politically involved the school was. They certainly had let the Ministry snatch her away from them.

More importantly, Sullivan deliberately mentioned Harry in the conversation. "- I hope you and your husband are both grateful -"

What was that for? And then she understood. This wasn't just going to be about her and her career. Sullivan was willing to remove Harry - or at least, move him to a less interesting/more dangerous job. Harry may had been working in the front line, but he was still young and Colin had reservations for putting him up for the most dangerous jobs. Maybe there'll be less reservations from now on if she pissed Sullivan off.

The thought made her shiver. Sullivan was threatening her. The clearer the thought became in her mind, the less she wanted to work for him; and yet, the more she had to convince herself to do it.

Hermione can deal with her own problems. She can get walked all over if it would mean she can at least keep her dignity for doing what she felt was right. Push her into a corner, she'd slap you across the face and tell you to eat it.

But Harry. She couldn't ruin his life together with her own. At the end of it all, he was more important to her than her research. She had never needed to prioritize the two. Harry never complained about the distance when they lived apart. They loved each other, they cared about each other, that was enough. But now...

She remembered them again - Malfoy's grey eyes looking straight into her soul. She felt it again - the tightening of her chest. How many times had she tried to cast the thought him out of her mind in the past week?

And these letters. She picked them up and put them down at her desk again, sighing. What to do of them?

The front door lock clicked. Harry was home.

She looked up from her desk and turned to her study's door.

"Hermione... you there?" Harry opened the door and peered in. A moment of silence passed between them as they stared into each other's eyes.

Harry, he looked so exhausted, so miserable. When was the last time she'd stopped to check how he was doing? She felt an immense guilt for being wrapped up in her own problems.

"I'm so sorry, Harry... I really don't know what to do with all this... I..." she couldn't continue, she looked down at her lap. She felt trapped, and she was dragging her husband, her best friend with her.

Harry sighed, he glanced at her desk and noticed the three unopened envelops.

"...Those, are they from him?" he asked.

Hermione gulped nervously, and nodded.

Harry's heart was heavy. He knew what the next obvious question was._ Do you want to see him?_

Let her go, at least let her see him voluntarily. Let her do it out of personal reasons, not forced by her work position. Let her go, Harry. Let her go.

But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to ask. It would all spin out of control. She'd go. She'd go and never come back.

So instead out came words that he knew would hurt her.

"You should show them to Colin... he was asking for you," he said without even looking at her.

He handed her the note Colin gave him to pass on to Hermione. And then he turned into their bedroom to get changed. He had work again tonight, intercepting a transaction in Knockturn Alley.

Hermione felt her heart squeeze tight in pain as she took Colin's note from Harry. She wanted to cry, cry her heart out. But nothing came. She had tried to reach out, tried to share her problems. But she understood that it was a burden Harry couldn't bear. No, he didn't really want her to see Colin. He never wanted her to go ahead with the mission. He would have asked her to quit her job long ago. But he didn't. She had begrudgingly left Hogwarts, but the Ministry's dirty deeds did not stop her from continuing her research. He wanted to respect her passion for her research. Well she would have told him she would give it all up to make him happy, to keep a distance from Draco Malfoy. But now that Hermione understood Sullivan's attitude towards them, well... she couldn't really quit her job. She wasn't about to spill all that stress out on Harry right now. He had enough to worry about tonight.

And so she sent him off with an empty hug as he was leaving the apartment. There was more pain than warmth in that hug. Hermione couldn't help but remember the way Malfoy held her not long ago. The way she felt so warm and safe in his arms. She felt herself tearing up as she hurriedly closed the door behind her. She could hear Harry not moving for a second, and then turning around the corner down the stairs. After she was positive she couldn't hear his footsteps any longer, she slid down onto the floor and let the tears flow freely.

Draco...

She missed him.

But she shouldn't see him.  
But she'll have to see him.

Not for spying on you. I never wanted to spy on you...

She would read the note from Colin hours later, when she finally pulled herself together enough to do so. The note was brief, and surprising to say the least.

_Hermione Potter,  
Your mission has changed. Meet me at my office immediately.  
- Charles_

x x x

"Master..." Symon whined softly from inside Draco's cloak.

"Shush," Draco hissed. Symon was so easily intimidated by the shadiness of these alleyways.

Knockturn Alley was, to say the least, a sketchy place to go at night. There was no wonder why Symon would be scared. Most wizards would rather avoid this particular area even during the day. Draco had gotten quite used to it though. He had grown up following his father around among the twists and turns of these streets. There was nothing difficult about navigating himself through.

But tonight, Draco was little more nervous than other nights. He had caught wind that the Ministry knew of the transaction he was about to make. Draco was sure that His Lord had specifically picked him to do the job tonight to test his loyalty. That scheming bastard. He looked down at Symon who was clinging on to his robes.

"I'm sure you have something to do with Him picking me, isn't there?" Draco asked sarcastically, "Now see what you've gotten yourself into."

Symon shook his head furiously, still keeping his mouth shut tight as he was commanded to earlier.

Draco sighed, "like I'd believe you."

They turned into a dark corner and Draco set Symon down. It was almost time. Draco looked up at the clock tower that stood in the not-so-far-away Diagon Alley and then glanced at the broken street light across the pavement. The man he was supposed to meet should be there soon. He was still fifteen minutes early.

That was when he heard shuffling from behind him. Symon almost gasped out loud as Draco quickly picked him up and covered his mouth. He quickly retreated into the street he just came from and hid behind a large trash collector.

He thought to himself sardonically, _me, a Malfoy, hiding behind garbage in Knockturn Alley with a shivering good-for-nothing house elf. How fitting._

The two people who appeared out of nowhere and now stood at the exact dark corner Draco had stood in earlier happened to be, as Draco soon found out, no other than Harry Potter and a young girl he did not recognize.

They were speaking softly, but they stood close enough that Draco could almost hear every word.

"So you left home without talking about it at all?" the girl said. She had a silky gentle voice.

"No, I just... I couldn't bring myself to tell her to do what she wants."

Interesting, Harry Potter having women problems. Draco pondered it with a smirk for a second, until remembering who Potter could possibly be talking about.

Hermione. Now it was really getting interesting.

"I understand you very well, Harry. But if you're not going to be honest with her and show that you care, or even that you're jealous... she'll just drift away more and more."

Harry Potter did not say anything for a moment. For a while Draco thought they were just speaking too softly for him to hear. He cautiously peered over the trash container. Nope, Potter wasn't saying a thing.

Draco hid behind the trash collector again, wondering what exactly they were talking about.

He had sent Hermione a few letters now. The first one where he apologized for making her uncomfortable and invited her over to amend things. And then when he didn't get a reply he sent another one, asking whether she was okay and that he'd be willing to talk.

He had thought about what happened long and deep. It was still hard to digest that he could feel so strongly for another person. But now that he knew he felt strongly about Hermione, he wasn't ready to back off. He wanted her to know, he wanted to know how she felt. By the second letter he knew his actions were desperate. If she were not willing to leave Potter for him... well, he would have shamed himself for a woman. The thought of it made him uneasy. And so it surprised himself to realize that it bothered him more that he couldn't see her again than to be turned down by her. It wasn't his pride that hurt, it was... you know, that part in his chest. It made him uncomfortable to admit such a thing. That second letter was hard to write. He wondered whether Hermione wanted to see him at all. From Potter and that girl's conversation just then, it sounded like she hadn't been happy lately. The Potter couple did not seem to be doing so well. Draco would have thought about taking the opportunity if it were a few days ago.

But things had changed lately. He had written one last letter to Hermione. The purpose of his third letter was... to tell her not to find him. He realized that things were getting a little out of hand when he received his latest mission from the Dark Lord. He knew the Dark Lord had something in store for him. She cannot associate with him so closely any longer. This transaction tonight, it was only part of the picture.

Draco looked down at Symon, remembering what Symon had told him the night before...

_"What do you mean, that my aunt wants to see me?" _Draco had asked.

He felt uneasy with the mentioning of Bellatrix LeStrange. She was a terrifying woman. Draco would never admit to it, but she had appeared in his nightmares many times as a child, torturing him with her sly remarks and piercing observations. She had seen through him long ago, that he was not willingly a follower of her favorite wizard in the world. Draco had never been comfortable with his mother moving into the countryside to live with his childhood nightmare. But then they were sisters. Draco could not stop them when Bellatrix offered Narcissa a room at her place.

_"You need some fresh air, sweetheart,"_ that woman had said, so slyly.

And from his mother's recent letters, Draco could tell that his aunt had somehow planted the idea in his mother's head that his father was really alive and just far away. Terrifying woman. There was a reason why he had yet to visit his mother. Draco did not want to see Bellatrix, period.

Symon had said something about Bellatrix being the next person in line in the transaction. Draco was supposed to get this 'object' from a man here in Knockturn Alley, while he was supposed to pass that on to Bellatrix. Of all people, that woman.

In the back of his head, Draco wondered if this was another little torture game the Dark Lord was playing. Draco may had perfected his Occulmency, but a part of him was never sure whether they had already read his mind throughly before no other than Bellatrix had taught him the art of closing his mind. They must had. They still watch me so closely.

He looked down at his house elf again.

_I know why they sent you to me, Symon. You're their little spy. Look at you, shivering like a leaf like always. Why on earth did they pick you anyway?_

He looked up again to check whether Potter and the girl were still there. They were.

He peered around his hiding place to check the other side of the pavement. It was five minutes past meeting time. There was still no sign of his transaction partner. He probably should move now and warn this wizard friend before he came face to face with the two Aurors.

As Draco swiftly disappeared into another alleyway, he thought to himself why he had not attacked Potter then and there. It would had been easy. Neither Aurors seemed to be concentrating on their job. Potter was certainly out of it. He pretended like he didn't understand himself, but he fully knew why. It was her, the woman with the wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her image came into his head when he saw Potter and his companion. One Avada Kedavra curse, and he would had killed the one man his Dark Lord wanted dead. How's that for loyalty? Lord Voldermort would never doubt Draco after that.

But he didn't. He didn't even want to imagine the look on Hermione's face if he had killed Harry Potter. So much for being loyal to Him. Draco sighed. After walking quietly a few blocks from where he had found the Aurors, he swooped his cloak over his shoulder and took off down the streets. He had remembered their backup meeting place in case something unexpected turned up.

_I have been trapped in this game of lies and deceit since birth, Hermione Granger. Adding you to the picture really shouldn't make it harder._

Really it shouldn't, he thought to himself.

_The only difference is I want to call it quits with this game... but I'll never want to quit you._

Draco came out of his trance and stopped at a dark archway. A man in a black cloak was waiting there. He beckoned to Draco. Draco took his wand out just in case. Now was not the time to be thinking about other things. He can only hope that this man was really a partner in crime and not some snooping mole.


	14. Mole

**Chapter Fourteen: Mole

* * *

**

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

The door creaked open slowly. A trembling Symon opened it.

If it was possible at all for him to look more terrified already, the moment Symon saw Hermione, he looked like he would pee his pants.

"Mistress Hermione! You can't... You can't be here!"

Hermione walked in without backing off, glancing at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry, Symon."

She dropped a bag at the door and kicked her shoes off, stepping onto the Malfoys' hallway, "Where is he? Where is Dra... Malfoy?"

Symon raced after Hermione as she walked quickly down the hallway, "But Mistress Hermione!"

Hermione turned into the living room. No, he wasn't there.

Malfoy's annoyed voice came from within, "Symon! What's with all the commotion? You're needed up here right now!" Hermione followed his voice up the stairs halfway when Malfoy showed up, coming down the stairs from the upper bedrooms.

"You damn well know it's almost time that-- " he had looked angry at first, but when he saw Hermione, Draco's eyes went wide in horror.

"Master!" Symon called desperately, pleading for support.

"Hermio... Granger! What are you… I thought I asked you not to come here anymore! Didn't you read my letter?"

Hermione looked taken aback for the first time, "I... I'm sorry, I didn't. I didn't know you didn't want to see me again..." She stopped at her footsteps.

Draco though relaxed briefly, running his fingers through his hair wearily as he walked down towards her.

"No, Granger. No... that's not it..." He took her hands in his. So soft they were, he would had held them longer. He was going to start explaining himself, but then suddenly realizing how little time he had, he changed his mind.

"No, you have to go now. NOW. Symon, show her out right away. I'm sorry, ...Granger. I'll explain it some other time. I'll write to you. Just don't come back to this house. Please."

He squeezed her hands tight, "Promise me."

Hermione nodded.

Draco looked visibly relieved; he let her hands go and quickly turned to his house elf.

"Symon," there was urgency in his voice.

Symon nodded and showed Hermione out to the doorway. Malfoy watched her turn around the corner and hurried back up to his room.

"Please hurry, Mistress Hermione. You don't want to bump into... anyway, please hurry!"

Hermione put her shoes on clumsily. She was particularly slow today.

"Hurry, Mistress Hermione!"

"I will, Symon. Can you please hand me my bag?"

Symon rushed to the bag, and in that short moment, Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at Symon's back.

Symon turned around, bag in his hands. He looked at the wand in shock.

"_Obliviate_"

Symon froze, pondering what he was doing until that moment. The memory loss charm worked. And in that short moment, Hermione grabbed the bag Symon was holding and pulled out the invisibility cloak from within. She was out of sight in a second.

_That's why I said sorry, Symon,_ she thought quietly.

Hermione muttered an incantation to replace Symon's short-term memory.

_That should do it. He'll think he'd sent me off already. _Now it was time to look for the kitchen.

x x x

This was Hermione's new mission. It was no longer about seducing or befriending Malfoy, or whatever the hell she was supposed to be doing with him. She was supposed to observe a Death Eater transaction in secret. Hermione probably wouldn't had been needed if Harry and Layla succeeded in intercepting the transaction at Knockturn Alley, but they didn't. Sullivan already had a Plan B ready to go before they heard from Harry: the next transaction would be occuring at Malfoy's Manor tonight, the night after the events in Knockturn Alley. It was in such a rush, Hermione felt it was a poor idea to go in without more preparation. In fact, Charles thought so too.

"I am still opposed to this idea. It's dangerous. _For Merlin's sake, __she's not a trained Auror!_" Charles had exclaimed, probably the only time Hermione had seen him speak against Sullivan's ideas.

"Nonsense. She'll be fine, Charlie. All she needs to do is get in and then sit there in the kitchen all night! We're lucky Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak. She'll find a chance to disapparate out fine."

All she had to do was observe the transaction occurring in the kitchen between the house elves. Hermione would understand customs between the house elves best, Sullivan was convinced that she was the best candidate for the job. The Department of Secrecy would extract the memory from her later as evidence and question her. Sullivan also seemed confident that Hermione would not even come face to face with the other party of Death Eaters.

Charles, remembering he was talking to his boss, composed himself and then pushed further in a professional tone of voice, "At the very least I would recommend a partner. Going alone is ---"

"And where are we going to hide this other person?" Sullivan questioned him harshly, "We only have one invisibility cloak. Even if we have one of our guys hiding somewhere outside the Manor just in case, they might get discovered. It'll blow her cover. No, it's simply safer to have her go in there alone. And that's final. She'll be fine, stop being paranoid about it."

Hermione could hear Charles gritting his teeth just a little.

Sullivan's confidence was all the more reason for Hermione to be hesitant. Why was he so ridiculously sure about everything anyway? Where on earth was Sullivan getting all the detailed insider information? When she asked Sullivan, he simply threw out the "it's classified" card. Charles didn't seem all that pleased with the answer either. After Sullivan left his office, Charles asked her to sit down.

"I'm confident in you," he said to her, though it sounded like he was reassuring himself more than her.

"You're a brilliant witch and very skilled. I trained you briefly when you first joined us, and I was, to be honest, very pleased with your abilities."

Hermione blushed just a little. Charles was not known for complimenting people, certainly not his subordinate.

"But in case something happens... do remember you have the stress stone. I'll be there in a moment if you call."

That was comforting to hear; without his supportive gesture, Hermione doubted she would had actually went with the plan. Not that she'd say she was in the right state of mind when she agreed to do so. But now that she was actually doing it, Hermione knew she had to do it right or she could get in serious trouble. Getting caught snooping around a bunch of Death Eaters would be... unwise to say the least.

So she had barged in forcefully and fooled Draco and Symon into believing she had left - the only way she knew she could get in without having to leave visible evidence of breaking in or to wait until the other party arrived. She was hesitant of altering Symon's memory, but it was definitely safer than altering some Death Eater's memory or following too close to one of them. She knew she was cutting it close, it might had been Draco's memory that she would have had to change. Also, the informant had said that the other party for the transaction would be arriving at 6PM. It was almost half past five when she barged in.

Thank heavens they were not there already.

Hermione felt quite lucky up until then, for she looked for the Malfoys' kitchen in vain for the next fifteen minutes or so. She had only seen Symon apparating back and forth the kitchen and the main house; she began to suspect that there wasn't an actual pathway to the kitchen. Hermione did not want to apparate in case someone heard the zapping noise she might make in the process. Besides she did not have the clear mental image of the kitchen to be certain she would apparate correctly. In the end she decided to hide near the house's entrance, hoping to find a chance to hitch a ride with the house elves when they arrived.

She waited there patiently. There wasn't a sound in the house for a while. Hermione thought about looking for Draco and seeing what he was up to. A part of her hoped Sullivan had mistaken, though from the things Symon and Draco had mentioned so far tonight, she knew that at least someone was visiting the Manor soon. Hermione nervously touched the stress stone in her pocket, making sure for the umph-time that it was there. She reminded herself that this was not the first time she had dealt with dangerous situations, thought she had never done so completely alone.

In situations like these, she often went through her relaxation routine - take deep breaths, rationally think out possible scenarios ahead of her and observe her surroundings intently. _Which Death Eaters could be arriving? How many house elves would there be? Would they disapparate to the kitchen? How would I follow them then? _Breathe in, breathe out. Hermione crouched there in a corner, anxiously prepared for anything fate might throw at her.

The next quarter hour or so felt like hell to Hermione. Waiting and sitting there, trying not to breathe too loudly... it was most nerve racking.

Finally, there was a knock at the door. First a refined tap tap, and then a harsh pounding. Hermione moved aside as Symon popped into existence and quickly opened the door for the guests. He looked very nervous as he turned the doorknob. The Death Eaters had arrived.

The first one to walk in was a tall icy middle-aged woman with long shining black hair and high cheekbones. Hermione's heart sank in dread. If she had ever compiled a list of people she was terrified of, Bellatrix Lestrange was definitely among them. Following closely at her heels was Kreacher - the late Sirius' house elf. Hermione's face twisted in revulsion. She had never quite warmed up to Kreacher, not especially after Harry had abandoned 12 Grimmauld Place because Kreacher had treacherously allowed Death Eaters in. That was quite a few years ago, and the last time Hermione remembered, the place was a bloody war zone. Kreacher had followed Bellatrix around since. In a way Hermione considered it a good thing that Kreacher had independently picked his mistress, though she would not agree with his choice of alliance. It was also not clear whether Harry was legally still Kreacher's master - but since neither were interested in serving or being served by the other, it did not seem to be a concern for anyone.

Following Bellatrix was a tall bony man with short black hair that parted in the middle. He looked Bellatrix's age, if not older. His nose had a peculiar shape; it was small and flat, like a pug's. Hermione doubted she had ever seen him before, though he did seem familiar.

"Good evening, Aunt Bella, Mr. Parkinson," a voice came from behind her. Hermione turned around to see Draco standing in the hallway, bowing slightly to his elders. He sounded so different from how he greeted her these days, Hermione was a little taken aback. Was this how he interacted with other Death Eaters? From his stoic facial expressions, Hermione could tell Draco was utterly uninterested in meeting his aunt or his former girlfriend's father.

Hermione glanced at the middle-aged man - indeed, Mr. Parkinson. Now that she had made the connection Hermione could see how Pansy came to look the way she did. She was a carbon copy of her father. Looking down she noticed Mr. Parkinson had a house elf too, one that Hermione had never seen before. He cowered at the sight of the other Death Eaters, and did not seem to be very comfortable with Kreacher either - but when he saw Symon, his eyes shined. Hermine felt blood draining from her head. There was malice in those shining eyes. Symon kept his eyes on the carpeted floor. This did not seem like it would be a happy gathering.

"Well, Kreacher, move along," Bellatrix instructed, kicking Kreacher lightly with the tip of her high heels as she walked pass him and followed Draco into the living room. Kreacher moved as he was told and grabbed both Symon and the other house elf by the arm. Hermione got up quickly, she had to move fast. She dodged Mr. Parkinson quietly and came up close to the house elves.

"So lead me to your kitchen, you scum," Kreacher whispered into Symon's ear, yanking hard at his arm. Symon whined softly in pain and then closed his eyes. In that instant, Hermione grabbed Symon's other hand from under the cloak. The world started spinning, Hermione felt like she might throw up. They had disapparated to the kitchen.

x x x

"I hope you weren't vegetarian, Mr. Parkinson," Malfoy commented half way through their steak dinner.

"Steak is fine," Mr. Parkinson looked uneasy; his eyes had been constantly darting back towards the entranceway where his house elf had disapparated with the rest of the house elves.

"For Lord's sake, Patrick... Relax," Bellatrix said impatiently, "How do you expect the rest of us to eat while watching you being neurotic all night? I don't know about your Mabel, but Kreacher will take care of the transaction like he always does. They'll be fine."

"I'm not worried about Mabel," Parkinson responded with a cough.

And then he added mockingly, glancing at Draco, "I just don't trust your house elf, young Malfoy... he's a little – what do you call it – feather-brained."

Draco did not seem affected by Parkinson's rude comment. He sat back in his seat comfortably, smirking at the senior Death Eater.

"Well, Mr. Parkinson," Malfoy responded with a snicker, "Symon has served my family well so far and proved to be competent, unlike your Mabel, who cannot even tell my mother from Aunt Bella apart."

Parkinson's cheeks colored just a little, while Bellatrix laughed maliciously. It was a common joke between the families that Mabel had failed for years to distinguish between the Black sisters despite how often the families met and how little the sisters looked alike.

"My dear nephew, acid remarks as always," Bellatrix said with a chuckle, slowly slicing a large slab of steak, "Though sometimes you do make me wonder how clever you really are... especially with the choices you make."

Draco raised one eyebrow suspiciously. Now what was this woman babbling about?

Bellatrix smirked evilly, placing the steak in her mouth. She chewed deliberately slowly; her bright red lipstick gave Draco the impression of a vampire devouring her prey.

"How do you mean?" Parkinson questioned interestingly, he seemed particularly keen on hearing the young Malfoy's poor decisions.

Bellatrix swallowed slowly and smacked her lips with pleasure. "Well... for instance, it has come to my attention that my young nephew here has recently acquired a certain... plaything."

Draco's blood froze; it took him a lot of concentration not to show it on his face.

Parkinson's eyebrows were raised, "_Plaything_?"

Bellatrix grinned, "Yes, a certain mudblood... and not just any mudblood, mind you. One who is married to no other than that Potter boy."

Draco could feel his fingers twitching in one hand, which he quickly calmed down. This wasn't going well for him; he had to turn the tables soon.

His aunt continued mercilessly, "It's very suspicious, my boy... veeery suspicious. I wouldn't want to suspect my sister's only son but, associating yourself with a muggle-born, and of all muggles... the wife of His Lord's sworn nemesis... is highly... unusual."

Parkinson sprang at the chance to deride Draco, "I would have expected better of you, Malfoy. Falling for a muggle-born! And a married one!"

Draco glowered, "Are you mocking me, Mr. Parkinson?"

Parkinson instantly sat back in his chair without thinking. Never mind that he was well over twice Draco's age or that he was more senior than Draco among Death Eaters, the young Malfoy's withering stare made Parkinson extremely uncomfortable. That cold stare – he knew it well – Draco had mastered Lucius' authority to the dot. Parkinson had always cowered before Lucius. He felt blood drain from his face as Draco continued, his cold grey eyes not leaving Parkinson's face.

"Falling for a filthy mud-blood... Do you seriously think that I even desire to touch one? Any better ideas for an insult, Mr. Parkinson?" He turned and glared at his aunt as well, "And Aunt Bella, of all people! You cannot possibly suspect me of treachery. I am fiercely loyal to His Lord. Seducing Hermione Potter is a ploy."

"A ploy?" asked Bellatrix, coming out of a trance. Even she had mistaken her young nephew for Lucius for a second.

"Yes... I intended to keep it a secret," ideas were racing through Draco's brain as he cool-headedly strung up a story for them, "I'm trying to figure out where Harry Potter is hiding."

Bellatrix's eyes widened in understanding. It was a brilliant idea – deceiving Potter's wife into trusting him, disclosing her location and thus the male Potter's hiding place. The Dark Lord would absolutely love it.

"My, my... seducing a married woman for information… Sly one, aren't you, Drakie."

Draco hated how she called him with his childhood nickname. It was her way of mocking him. For now though, he decided to ignore it.

Parkinson scoffed.

"What, do you also have an opinion, Mr. Parkinson?"

Parkinson was not convinced. "I don't trust you, Draco Malfoy. You've never seemed so willing to serve our Lord."

Draco gave him a dangerous look, "Very well Mr. Parkinson... if you, who claims to be so loyal to the Dark Lord, would call a gift from Him 'feather-brained', I'll have to question _YOUR _loyalty to him as well."

Bellatrix's eye flared dangerously. Parkinson, realizing he had dug a hole for himself, quickly apologized. Draco accepted it straightaway. There was no reason to keep pushing Parkinson into a corner. He had the upper hand now.

Parkinson though, was not at all happy how a junior member of the Dark Alliance was pushing him around.

"You may be used to being irresistible, Malfoy - much like your late father, in fact - but a married woman is a completely different matter. Especially with dull boring women like that mudblood. I heard she's a stuck-up bookworm. They're not as easy to stray off their righteous paths as you're used to."

"I'm sure you've heard a lot from Pansy, Mr. Parkinson," Draco responded with a smirk, "You underestimate me."

Parkinson went silent with the mentioning of his daughter.

Bellatrix though, seemed to think it was funny and chuckled.

"Ooh, poor Pansy. Arrested on her first mission! I guess it couldn't be helped. The girl was a coward for taking so long to get her Dark Mark. Drakie dear here got his when he was still in school. Wasn't she your girlfriend at some point?"

"Let's not talk about that, aunt," Malfoy responded quickly, happy not to agitate Parkinson any further.

"My daughter is not a coward!" Parkinson roared desperately.

Bellatrix cackled with glee and patted Parkinson's shoulder with her boney hand.

"Aw, calm down, dearie. We'll figure something out for her; get her out of this mess. Don't worry."

Parkinson recoiled and sat in silence, both anger and anxiety showing on his face. Malfoy knew how worried he was. Pansy had only recently become a Death Eater – much to the dismay of her father, who was extremely protective of her. Her mother though, was very proud of her daughter's ambitions. Unfortunately, Pansy was not the brightest of the lot. It didn't take a couple of weeks until she had exposed herself to the Ministry. She was arrested instantly; her trial was coming up soon.

Draco couldn't decide whether to sympathize with the Parkinsons. It had always been obvious to him that Pansy should never be allowed to do complicated tasks if others could help it. She was also impertinent and blunt. He had never seen her sincerely being nice to anyone. Sometimes Draco wondered how he had missed such facts about her personality when he had escorted her, realizing that his lack of concern before bothered him now only because he finally learnt what it felt like to be actually attracted to someone. He himself had also discovered a gentle side of himself... it was both frightening and fascinating. Being with Hermione, a muggle-born, had proved to be worth his time many times over compared to being with Pansy. If Bellatrix can read Draco's mind right now, she would have thought he was down right insane.

The Death Eaters continued to eat in silence for a while. Draco noticed how his aunt was pondering something throughout the rest of the meal, which made him restless inside. As their meal came to a close, Draco noticed she was looking straight at him.

Draco put down his napkin that he raised to wipe his mouth, anticipating her words.

"Whatever you are doing, Draco," she spoke finally, solemnly, "I hope you remember where your mother is, and that she is at my discretion. Don't you dare let Him down."

Draco felt cold inside. He knew for sure then that letting his mother live with her was a big mistake.


	15. House elves

**Author's notes: **This chapter was painful to write. My rendition of Kreacher is quite aggravating. For those of you who are not fluent in the ancient Elfin language (duh), I've specially translated it into English in_ italics_ below ;)

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: House elves

* * *

**

Down in the kitchen, Hermione was discovering a hierarchy among the house elves from their conversations. She was surprised to hear that they were speaking in their ancient Elfin language, something they never did in front of human beings, but then she remembered they had no knowledge of her being there. Hermione was thrilled despite her situation; she crouched near a counter, watching the house elves interact with her ears perked up.

Back during the time she worked at Hogwarts, Dobby had revealed to her how 'elite' house elves who served rich pure-blooded families all spoke ancient Elfin - it was a symbol of sophistication. He even offered to teach her, which Hermione gladly accepted. Albeit rather clumsily, Dobby taught her a lot. She had almost forgotten that she had learnt ancient Elfin; it was proving really useful right now.

_"Did you do your job right?"_ Kreacher asked threateningly, hovering over Symon. He was a good two inches taller than Symon. Kreacher wasn't the most friendly-looking house elf. His deep wrinkles around his eyes drooped in such a way that they made him look angry all the time.

Symon looked perplexed, his knees shaking as he muttered,_ "...Pa... pardon?"_

"You uneducated fool! _Can't you even understand your own tongue?_" Mabel taunted, switching back and forth between English and Elfin as he bounced around a confused Symon, _"Greenies don't learn to speak?"_

"He's the last of his kind, Mabel," Kreacher chuckled, pushing Symon in the chest, "Green ugly scum. Don't call yourself one of us."

He deliberately spoke in English so Symon understood every word. Symon toppled over and sat on the cold cobblestone floor. Big rolls of tears flooded from his eyes. Hermione couldn't stand the sight, but she dared not move to help. She couldn't blow her cover right now.

Apparently Symon was not fluent in ancient Elfin. Hermione noticed how Kreacher and Mabel constantly mocked Symon for his lack of sophistication and picked on him for his appearance. Mabel had called Symon a 'greenie', making fun of Symon's unique skin tone. They despised Symon. It didn't take Hermione long to learn why.

Kreacher was now scanning the room with a sharp glare. Symon was terrified. He knew what was coming next. Kreacher's eyes landed on a bronze ladle lying on one of the counters. An evil grin spread across his face as he held the ladle in his clawed fingers. He turned to look at Mabel, who chuckled approvingly. Symon sobbed softly, his little fists clenched in fear. Hermione couldn't believe what was about to happen.

"My Mistress is veeery angry, Symon," Kreacher announced loud and clear as he slowly walked up to the shivering young house elf.

Mabel plopped himself up on a counter very close to where Hermione was crouching. He dangled his legs off the edge, moving them to and fro like a little child would on a bench at a park. He looked happy and curious.

Symon didn't say anything, his eyes looking away from the two. He looked shameful and scared.

"We know your Master is doing something secretly... and you're not telling us," Kreacher continued tauntingly, tapping the ladle in his hand as he approached Symon.

"What ARE you are hiding?" Mabel squealed in delight, his arms in the air, "Tell us, Symon. TELL US!"

And then suddenly, before Symon could even respond, Kreacher dropped the ladle hard on his head and screeched, _"Your Master is a traitor, and you're not telling my Mistress!_ _You swore to tell her everything! __He is a traitor!! He is a traitor!!"_

Symon screamed in pain, but Kreacher did not stop. He repeatedly slapped Symon in the face.

_"Your Master is a traitor! He loves that muggle woman! He's been seeing her again!"_ Kreacher yelled over and over again. Mabel cackled wickedly, clapping and cheering.

"No he isn't! No he hasn't!" Symon finally managed to gasp, he refused to admit to anything Kreacher said.

_"_He is! He is!_ You're a liar. You've been lying to my Mistress! You've been lying! I will hit you until you tell the truth! _I will tell her, I will tell her!_"_

Symon screamed and flexed and whined, all the while shouting back that his master was not a traitor.

Hermione watched all this horrifyingly. Kreacher was not using torture curses against Symon, but he was giving him serious bruises. Hermione now understood who had been abusing Symon. Bellatrix Lestrange. Kreacher must had learned to hurt Symon from her. She did not understand how Bellatrix had so much power over Symon, but now wasn't really the time to analyze that. She wasn't going to stand by and watch Symon being smashed into a pulp.

She stood up, ready to stand up for Symon. It was then that she noticed Mabel had turned around to look at where she was standing. She was still invisible and careful not to hit anything, but he must had felt the air move when she stood up. Mabel was sitting quite close to her after all.

His eyes went wide and he said in a whisper, "...the mole..."

It couldn't be. Mabel sounded like he already knew there was a mole amongst them. He hopped off the counter.

Before Mabel could do anything about his discovery, Hermione pointed her wand at him "_Immobulus!_" she thought clearly in her mind. Even in times like this, she knew not to blow her cover completely. Symon would recognize her voice in a heartbeat.

The screaming and torturing continued briefly until Kreacher noticed that Mabel's cheering had subsided. He turned to look at where Mabel was sitting, holding a bruised and crying Symon up by the collar of his rags. It took him a moment to scan the room and see where Mabel was standing.

"Mabel!" Kreacher dropped Symon to the cobblestone floor instantly at the sight of his immobilized friend, "_What happened to you?!_ Who's here! There must be a spy, there must be!"

Symon's eyes went wide. A spy?

Kreacher began sending hexes in random directions across the room. Hermione dodged as saucepans, pots and silverware flew right pass her, crashing into the walls and smashing all over the floor. Hermione threw herself behind a counter, temporarily saved. Symon jumped back and forth, dodging sharp knives and whining in pain when he failed to do so. He was not very good at protecting himself. Soon he was lying on the ground, hurt and scared.

Hermione looked over the counter, noticing that Kreacher was throwing fork-darts in the opposite direction that very moment. Quickly she shot a hex at him, which hit him square in the chest and sent him flying and hitting the ground right where Symon was lying. It pushed all the air out of Kreacher's lungs. Hermione took a run for the window, which was the closest exit to her. She wasn't about to stay for another round of flying pots and pans.

"You... worthless... piece... of junk! Do something!" Kreacher screeched at Symon between puffs of air.

They both turned when they heard the squeaking of metal when Hermione pushed the window open to get out.

"There he went! Go after him!" Kreacher yelled, "He'll get your Master, you fool!"

At the mentioning of Draco, Symon darted for it, one of his arms limping from an injury the flying knives had caused him earlier.

x x x

Hermione ran, still under the invisibility cloak, dodging Symon's accurate hexes at her. He seemed different suddenly, filled with purpose and ready to take her down. He couldn't see her, and yet, he sensed well where she was. It didn't help that Hermione was running through long grasses in the Manor's backyard. The grasses parted as she went forward. Symon nearly hit her square with one of his hexes. Even then, Hermione just couldn't make herself attack Symon. Instead she shot back useless spells that only served as diversions.

Symon was not easily fooled. Soon they were running along the back of the Manor building and Symon was catching up. Hermione desperately looked for an opening in the Manor's fence to get out. She would had disapparated but she didn't have time to stop and concentrate. Symon was shooting at her without mercy.

And then, suddenly, a strong wind blew the invisibility cloak off Hermione. Shocked, she turned around, only to have Symon shoot another spell at her, which disarmed her completely. Her wand fell into a bush. Hermione stood there in terror, feeling exposed and completely vulnerable. Symon though, if it was possible at all, looked even more shocked than she was. In his hand was the invisibility cloak that he had blown off her. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, until Symon finally brought himself to speak.

"Mistress... Hermione?" there was such disbelief in his voice.

"Symon..." Hermione began pleadingly, trying to explain herself.

Before Hermione could continue further, they both heard quick footsteps coming from the front entrance. Hermione heard a female voice shrieking "What was that? Where is it coming from?" Hermione's eyes went wide in terror, that had to be Bellatrix. The other two must be following her closely.

She was disarmed. What to do now? She could call Charles, but Draco would be arrested for this. She could _not_ call Charles, but this could be the end for her. She reached into her pocket for the stress stone, when suddenly a strong wind picked her off her feet. Before she realized what was happening a strong thrust pushed her up into the air and straight through an open window on the upper floors of the Manor. As soon as Hermione went through the window, it closed and both the door and the windows locked themselves with a click. The invisibility cloak landed on her. It took Hermione a second to realize where she was because the room was so dark. As she rummaged around her surroundings, she heard Symon's voice close to her ear, "Mistress Hermione, PLEASE stay here! Don't let them see or hear you! PLEASE trust Symon!" and then with a pop, he was gone.

Hermione stood up from where she had landed and realized she was in a bathroom. She soon discovered where Symon had went, for she could hear Draco's angry voice downstairs out in the yard, just where she was a second ago.

"WHAT ON EARTH WAS THAT, SYMON! YOU BETTER EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

Before Symon could really answer, Hermione heard Kreacher's screeching voice, "It's a MOLE! Mistress, it's a MOLE!"

Symon screamed in pain. Somebody was hurting him again but Hermione couldn't see who. It was really dark out there.

Bellatrix screamed each word loud and clear, "You blockhead! How did you manage to let them escape!"

"Where is Mabel? Where is my house elf!" that was Mr. Parkinson's nervous voice.

Symon screamed in pain, "The mole... The mole went that way, that way, Mistress! It hurts, Mistress! Don't pull my ear, Mistress!" It seemed that Bellatrix had grabbed Symon by the ear.

There was more panic, more screaming and screeching. Hermione stood there at the window trying to see in vain what was going on in the backyard. The commotion lasted until Draco suddenly spoke up.

"Aunt Bella!" Draco shouted. He had been silent for a while, and when he spoke, it silenced the other Death Eaters.

Hermione strained her ears to listen.

Draco was speaking calmly now, "Let's not waste time. Aunt Bella and Mr. Parkinson, please search in the direction Symon pointed at. They must not have gone that far! Hopefully they haven't disapparated yet. I'll search the house again so meet me in the living room."

Coming to their senses, Bellatrix and Mr. Parkinson raced through the tall vines with Kreacher following closely. All Hermione could hear was quick shuffling. They were running off. If she were to escape, now was the time. She reached into her pocket. To her dismay, the stress stone was gone. She must had dropped it.

Great, no wand, nothing.

Hermione collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor in despair. How was she supposed to get out of there alive?

* * *

**Author's notes: **More later! Please review!


	16. What they thought they'll never say

**Chapter Sixteen: What (they thought) they'll never say**

* * *

A 9-to-5 job doesn't really exist for an Auror; certainly it didn't for Harry. Around the same time the events in the previous chapter unfolded at the Malfoy's Manor, Harry had just left his office from the day's work. Even then, it was an early night for him. Normally on these rare evenings, he'd be returning home to Hermione cooking or going out for a meal together as a couple. Tonight wasn't one of those nights for obvious reasons. Instead of feeling lonely at home, Harry decided to take a stroll in downtown London where not a soul would recognize him.

Or so he thought.

"Layla!?"

The young blonde girl turned around in surprise. She had been so completely engrossed in a cheap love novel she'd found at a roadside bookstall, her cheeks blushed when she realized who had just called her name. Quickly she hid the book behind her so Harry wouldn't see. It was quite unnecessary since he wasn't the type to burst her bubble right away, but he did chuckle just a little inside for he had seen the title of the book.

"Wha- What are you doing here, Harry?" Layla mumbled as she clumsily gave the book back to the stall owner and pulled Harry away by the sleeve. The shop owner swore at her, while Harry couldn't help but burst out into laughter.

"You know you can continue reading_ Scandalous Sixteen_, I won't judge you," he said, still chuckling.

Red-faced, Layla pretended she didn't hear him and continued to tug him down the street, mumbling some nonsense about how she just happened to pick up a random book.

After calming down, Layla decided to ask him again, "So Harry, really what are you doing here?"

Harry shrugged; there wasn't much of a reason except that he was trying to distract himself from thinking what Hermione would be doing then.

"What are _you_ doing here, Layla? You're not even a muggle-born,' he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Now it was her turn to shrug, "I just like watching muggles... Nobody knows me here so I feel a little safer."

Harry nodded in agreement. Aurors were often sought after by Death Eaters, so much so that the Ministry had advised against them walking in open areas alone. But Harry liked taking walks down city streets at night. Walking up and down muggle London was the only way he could continue enjoying it these days. The neon lights and busy muggle nightlife was something Harry never experienced growing up, since he essentially lived in the magical world most of his life. He knew enough about muggles from childhood that they weren't awfully unfamiliar to him, but there was a certain curious novelty to their lifestyle.

In the past he had enjoyed walks like these with Hermione - it was their secret date routine. Both having born amongst muggles, they had a lot in common. They'd talk about how the muggles knew nothing about the other world just next door, or how magical folks never seemed interested in the amazing things muggles do. Never did he think he'd walk the same streets with a witch other than Hermione.

"Harry, what's that?" Layla pointed at the food displays of a Mexican restaurant, "It looks tasty." She tugged him into the restaurant. Harry chuckled. Layla must have never had tacos in her life. She was a very curious girl and he enjoyed her company. In a way she was like a little sister to him. She certainly relied on him a lot.

As he tried to explain to her the menu, Harry couldn't help wondering again in the back of his head what Hermione was doing right then. Charles, for the first time, was tight-lipped about Hermione's mission to Harry. It worried him.

x x x

As soon as the other Death Eaters were out of sight, Draco dragged Symon into the house. He had been forceful at first - Symon whined softly in fear - but as they walked through the front door where light from the inside was pouring out, Draco loosened his grip. He turned to his house elf and bent down, gently picking up his injured arm to inspect it in the light.

"Did Granger do this to you?" Draco questioned pointedly, scanning Symon and noting all the bruises on him.

Symon was embarrassed about his bruises, but he was more startled by Draco's insightfulness, "Master... how did you guess..."

Draco sighed wearily and knelt down to Symon's eye level.

"I'll tell you later... first tell me this: Did she do this to you?" he asked earnestly.

Symon shook his head vigorously.

"Then who did?"

Symon refused to answer, his eyes looking away from his master. Every time in the past, when Kreacher or Bellatrix had abused him, Symon had hid away from Draco's view effectively until the black and purple spots were not visible. This was the first time Draco had noticed his house elf's injuries.

"I see..." Draco stood up, looking down at Symon regrettably. Draco had never noticed how much this tiny creature had endured by his side. He had some idea who was to blame, and he certainly was not happy about the implications behind it. He was ready to give the person responsible a piece of his mind, but first, there were important matters at hand.

"Symon... tell me, is she safe?"

x x x

When Bellatrix and Parkinson returned, Draco was not ready for what they had brought back with them - or to be more exact, _who_ they had brought back with them.

Struggling and entangled in a mass of rope was a man looking about 35 or so years of age, his mouth gagged and his clothes soiled with mud from presumably the swamp in Malfoy's backyard. Draco could vaguely recognize the man's uniform that had probably seen better days.

"He's from the Ministry..." Parkinson mumbled, his voice trailing off. He seemed rather nervous, unfitting for a Death Eater who had fought many an Auror in the past.

The man grumbled as he struggled to sit up. Bellatrix glanced at him coldly and pointed her wand at him. She cast a spell that hit him right in the stomach. The man groaned softly in pain, now unable to move as he lay there on the wood planked floor.

"This snooping scum was wearing a mask when we found him," Bellatrix said in distain, "Luckily we caught him off guard - he's pretty good with his wand."

Draco glanced at Bellatrix, who was licking a cut on her lip, likely a relic of the fighting that had ensued.

"Very daring, I must say... spying on a Death Eater's meeting," Draco commented thoughtfully. Very daring, Hermione Granger. And now who is this that you have brought with you? Or _did_ you bring him with you?

Draco walked up to the man and pulled the gag out of his mouth. He rolled the man over to look at his face clearly. He had never seen him before.

Parkinson, in sudden revelation, apparently recognized Charles. His face went pale.

"I know him. I know this man! He's that famous Auror... Colin."

Draco glanced at Parkinson, wondering where Parkinson would have met this man. Draco knew the name certainly - Colin was famous for being a superb Auror. But Colin was also well known for hiding his appearance during battle with that mask of his. Draco might had fought him before, but he certainly had never seen him face to face.

A deranged smile spread across Bellatrix's face, her eyes widened. The mentioning of Colin's name seemed to have triggered lunacy in her. She untied Charles with a flip of her wand and levitated him into the air.

"I've heard of you, Mr. Colin," she spoke slowly as she circled the poor man who was hanging in the air with his arms and legs flailing about in odd directions.

Charles came in and out of consciousness, trying to strain his neck to look at her straight. Draco could tell that normally he was a man of dignity; he didn't seem like the type who would easily succumb to torture either.

As Draco pondered how to bring his aunt back to sanity without setting her off, Bellatrix continued, "You're that field commander they all talk about; the one who spins us in circles and arrests us when we least expect it! That foolish Sullivan's right-hand man... What a surprise... Didn't think we'd find a prize like you snooping around now, did we?"

Charles kept his silence, giving Bellatrix a dirty look.

"Oh, why so upset?" she cooed, "I know! Did you also come for dinner? I'm sorry we didn't prepare a seat for you. Had to sneak into the kitchen, didn't you? Starving, aren't you?"

She then quickly drew circles in the air with her wand, which sent Colin spinning out of control.

Bellatrix cackled in crazed delight, "How is it now to be the one being spun around? Fun isn't it!" She then abruptly stopped his spinning and used the cruciatus curse, to which Charles responded with gritted teeth and moans that got louder by the minute.

"I... I don't know if this is a good idea..." Parkinson stuttered, wiping the cold sweat trickling down his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Oh don't be such a wimp, Patrick!" Bellatrix chuckled, playing with Charles like a little girl throwing her doll around in the air, "You're scared only because the Ministry has Pansy. This will be our perfect bargaining chip!"

"Aunt Bella, Mr. Parkinson..." Draco beckoned; he had been talking to Kreacher and Symon quietly in the corner.

Bellatrix stopped focusing on the curse for a moment to hear her nephew speak. She let her toy drop onto the cold stone floor. Colins groaned in pain, he could barely hold his upper body up.

Draco cleared his throat and spoke softly to his two seniors so that Charles couldn't hear, "Apparently the house elves never brought out the goods so this guy hasn't seen anything important at all."

Parkinson still looked concerned while Bellatrix seemed uninterested in whether Colin had seen things or not.

Draco ignored their facial expressions and continued, "Tonight's obviously not a good night to continue our... business. It's been a long night, friends. I would be happy to deal with this scoundrel if you leave him to me. We'll discuss our deal later."

His aunt narrowed her eyes skeptically, "And what, may I ask, do you plan to do with him?"

"Well..." Draco said thoughtfully, "I'd rather rid him once and for all. But killing a Ministry agent would bring... too much attention to us. They must know he's here tonight." He glanced at the injured Ministry agent, who glared at him.

Charles spat at his feet with all his might, "Do what you will, Malfoy. We'll still get you someday."

Bellatrix was furious, " How dare you spit in front of aristocrats!" She was ready to hex him to the next universe. Draco, holding in his anxiety, quickly stopped his aunt with a gentle but firm grip on her wand arm, "Aunt Bella... I'd be happy if we didn't spill blood right here in my living room."

Bellatrix glared at her nephew, to which he just rolled his eyes as he let go of her. She had lowered her wand.

"You have such a sadistic streak, Aunt Bella," he said with a chuckle, walking up to Charles. Draco made a mental note not to aggravate his aunt later when discussing the abuse of Symon. He'd never want to be the object of her sadism.

"Don't worry," he said as he grabbed Charles by the hair and looked straight into his angry eyes, "I'll screw with his head enough that he won't even remember where he put his spit on. You're lucky I'm not killing you tonight, sir... Next time, Draco Malfoy won't be so nice."

"I'll get you one day, Malfoy. Just wait and see."

Draco grinned, "Oh I'll be eagerly waiting for the day."

He might not be an enthusiastic Death Eater, but he certainly was cocky like one.

x x x

_"...Alohomora."_

The bathroom door unlocked with a faint tick and creaked open slowly. Draco's shadow cast onto the tiled floor. The room was dark except the small light shimmering at the tip of his wand.

"...Granger," he called softly.

The room seemed quite empty until something rustled in the bathtub and Hermione slowly revealed herself from under the invisibility cloak. Draco could only see her round eyes, softly reflecting the light shining into the room. Hermione's heart filled with foreboding as she stood into the light; she couldn't read his expressions in the dark. Draco's face remained stoic as he leaned onto the doorframe and put away his wand.

"I should have known that you're with them," he said sourly.

_And yet I decided to ignore the little voice in my head. You can prove to be my demise, Hermione Granger._

His words pierced like no other, and yet she said nothing. She knew this day would come sooner or later. It was simply sooner than she had expected, she wasn't ready for it.

"Come on out," Draco beckoned, ice still in his voice, "Unlike the others who'd left... I have no intention of hurting you."

Hermione felt an uneasy lump growing in her throat as she stepped out of the bathtub and walked up to him. Draco looked into the eyes of the woman he admired so. Those eyes, they still looked so clear and beautiful. Was the honesty he saw in them just a product of his imagination?

She stopped not a few steps outside the bathroom door, waiting for the erupting anger that was sure to ensue. Draco kept walking across the room and sat on the edge of his bed, facing an uncomfortable Hermione. He stared straight into her face, unwavering. He could feel his front for Death Eaters coming out as he tried to suppress the wretchedness and anger within.

"You know..." he started sarcastically, "I know you're a Gryffindor and all, but that was foolish bravery to snoop around my house, Granger. You're lucky you're not the one caught in my garden tonight... In fact, _we're_ both lucky. My aunt would've been convinced that you've bewitched me. It would've been a fun... slow... painful death for the both of us."

A mocking smirk spread across his face. Hermione couldn't understand his nerve. Certainly this wasn't the time to make fun of the situation, was it? His sarcasm was infuriating, particularly when he was right about things. But she did notice how the usual smirk was just a little bit forced tonight. He was angry, but it wasn't just anger...

She then noticed the nuances in his words.

"What do you mean _I'm_ not the one caught... who else did you find?"

Draco was amused to find that the quick-witted Hermione Granger was still alive, and that she had noticed the subtlety in his words. When Bellatrix and Parkinson finally left the house, Draco had questioned Colins whether he had come here with Hermione. Colins kept his mouth shut, but his silence was enough for Draco to guess that they knew each other, though it wasn't clear whether Hermione knew Colins was involved as well.

Well now that she had asked, he had no intention of lying to her. He told her everything - from how Colin was caught to how he had Symon apparate Colin back to his office without any recollection of tonight's events. Hermione wasn't the only one well versed in the _Obliviate_ charm.

She felt awful for getting Charles involved while she was safely tucked away by Symon. Not that she knew she was safe until she saw Draco, but it still didn't change the fact that Charles ended up being her replacement. She wondered whether she had actually called for him with the stress stone or if he had went against Sullivan's orders and followed her. Either way Hermione recognized once again that she really wasn't spying material. It was a wonder why Sullivan had not realized it yet.

Draco watched the guilty look on her face and wondered why he felt so unbelievably hurt by the revelation that she had really been colluding with the Ministry. _Tell me it's all a joke, Hermione. Tell me this undeniable fact right now is a lie. _He wasn't sure if he knew her anymore. But when had he really known her?

"So it was all a lie, wasn't it," he wasn't really asking, the answer seemed obvious.

Hermione shook her head defiantly, which angered him.

"Don't lie to me now, Granger," suddenly he spoke so hotly, the passion in his own voice surprised him.

"I'm not lying, Malfoy. Not everything was a lie," Hermione defended just as heatedly, and then her voice trailed away, "Besides... you weren't all that honest about yourself."

Draco was vexed. He stood up and took a step towards her, responding rather defiantly, "Yes but this is my personal life, while YOU were spying on ME. I think I have every right to feel betrayed, Granger."

"And you think I wanted to spy on you?" Hermione retorted quickly. Now it was her turn to step towards him. She knew she was supposed to feel apologetic, but all the frustration pent up in her for so long spilled out uncontrollably, "My expertise is in house elves sociology, not secret intelligence. I'm a researcher - _a bookworm if you will_ - I thrive in reading and writing. I like meeting my subjects, but I'd never _NEVER_ invade their privacy for it! You should know that much about me, Malfoy. I'm not the material for this kind of thing."

Draco had to agree to that. Whoever decided to put her on the mission was a fool, ...and he was a fool for not registering she was a spy.

"I didn't ask for this," her voice trailed off into a painful whisper. She never wanted a reason to betray his trust like this.

If there was one person who knew how it was like to be forced into a job that they had qualms about, it was he. His heart clenched tight in sympathy. Draco had proven to be an outstanding Death Eater - a cocky one at that - but he never had the choice to opt out of being one. Sometimes he wondered how different his life would have been if his father and relatives didn't pressure him into getting his Dark Mark.

Despite his sympathy, Draco could not drop his front. He'd learned better than to just trust her like that.

"I still don't see why you would agree to take this job if you loathed it so much."

He couldn't help but notice how she bit her lip whenever she was about to answer something difficult. Inappropriate thoughts briefly flashed through his mind, like how nice it would be to be the one biting into those sweet lips. He quickly cast the thought away.

Hermione's voice shivered when she spoke, "I didn't have a choice... I tried to quit... but now they're using Harry to threaten me..." She thought about Harry's pained expression just the night before. Since when had she begun hurting everyone she cared about?

Draco couldn't explain the suffocating feeling rising in his chest at the mentioning of Harry Potter. If he had been more familiar with the feeling he would have known to call it by its name - Jealousy. But this was Draco Malfoy; a Malfoy would never admit to jealousy even if they'd recognized it.

"So it's about protecting your husband now. How noble of you." There was more bitterness in his voice than he had wanted to show.

"And what's wrong with protecting my husband?" Hermione snapped back.

He didn't have anything to say to that._ I just wished it were more about me, not about him._ He thought it, but he didn't say it. Oh he'd _never_ say it.

Instead he said, "Even if I believe that, you could at least apologize you know."

A long chilled silence pressed on between them for a while. Draco sat back down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. This was going nowhere. He wasn't sure if he was angry or sad, or just simply bitter. This was not how he wanted things to be. We're fighting like an old couple before we're even one.

He vocalized this last thought, which made Hermione smile just slightly.

"You'll have to wait a million years until you get a chance at that, Malfoy," she mocked in jest.

He gave her his most infuriating smirk, "We'll see, Granger... Though No Thanks if you include fighting like this in the package."

She chuckled and they both felt the ice melting between them.

Finally giving in, she sat down on the floor against the wall facing Draco, "Fine... I'll apologize. But not for spying on you."

He cocked an eyebrow, "What for then?"

She bit her lip again. _Please stop that,_ he thought in his head. It was hard to concentrate. He wanted to look away but he couldn't take his eyes off her face. The stark difference in his ability to keep his feelings under control when being around her and the Death Eaters alarmed him. It was most maddening how she was completely oblivious to the difficulty he was having in keeping his cool.

Hermione, on the other hand, was fighting the little voice in her head as she decided whether she wanted to be honest with him. _You've decided not to dwell on your feelings for him; you were going to walk away. There's no reason to bring it up now._ She knew perfectly well that she might be crossing a dangerous line for saying what she was about to say. But she said it anyway.

"Because... even though Harry is a reason why I'm here, it hasn't always been the reason."

Draco stared at her blankly, uncomprehending, "Why then?"

Hermione looked away, regretting what she had just said as the little voice in her head grunted triumphantly.

"I have the right to know, I think," he leaned forward with his arms resting on his knees, barely hiding how interested he was in her answer.

Hermione turned back to him, her face flushing just slightly as she answered, "I wanted to find out for myself. I wanted to know who you are, Draco Malfoy. Till today..." and the scene from that night at Hogwarts came back to her mind again - the Dark Mark staring back at her, his cold stare and the end of their short friendship.

"Till today I still remember that night finding out that you've become one of them. I had so many questions... like why you chose what you chose, like whether you were happy with what you decided... but I was too scared to ask then."

_And I'm still scared to ask._

Draco listened to her confession intently, he felt warm inside but felt that it was all coming too easily.

"I've been out of your life for years. Why do you care?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burning more, "Is it so strange that I do?"

"Well… nobody else ever cared," he said plainly, "You're an anomaly among hundreds of people that came and went in my life. I don't see why you should be different."

"And why should I be like everybody else, Malfoy?" Hermione stood up and went up to him, her hands on her hip. Draco thought she looked like a little girl pouting and trying to make a point that she was an adult. It was cute particularly because this was Hermione Granger, the supposedly mature bookworm doing it.

"I care about you, that really is all there is to it," Hermione continued just as matter-of-factly as he had been a moment ago, "Besides... I can ask the same question about you. Why did you still want to see me if you knew I was such a liability? Why all the letters?" She wasn't going to let him pretend that he didn't understand how she felt.

"I thought I was the one asking the questions here," this was quickly turning into a confession session that he wasn't ready to participate in.

"You're avoiding the question," she said pointedly as she sat down next to him on the bed. She looked into his eyes earnestly. They were such a remarkable color, a grey that was truly mesmerizing. At first she was just trying to make a point, now she couldn't take her eyes off them. His eyes darted back and forth just slightly, like he was trying to stay calm.

Hermione noticed it and smirked, just like how Draco always did to her, "Admit it, Draco, you care about me too."

"I'm not admitting to anything, _Hermione_."

The way she was looking straight into him, hitting the tender spots, he couldn't stand it. And she had just called him _Draco;_ alarm bells were ringing in his head. This was too intimate. No, this was exactly how intimate he had wanted to be with her, and more, but he didn't realize that being intimate also meant he had to expose himself to her. No, ...that wasn't true either. He had realized it perfectly – it was just harder in reality than what he had imagined. This wasn't how she was supposed to realize his feelings to her. He was supposed to be cocky about it, make her blush like a teenage girl. He wasn't supposed to slip up like this.

"Oh come on," she said toyfully, taking his hand, which he feigned to pull away, "I've admitted to it. Why won't you?"

Provoking an ice-cold Draco was a difficult task, but pushing him over the edge when he was impassioned... he would do exactly as you had asked him to, just not in the way you had _expected_ him to.

"Well maybe, Hermione, it's because that unlike me," he said, now taking her hands firmly, peering into her eyes in a way that made her blush and want to pull away instinctively. But he didn't let her, oh he wasn't going to let her.

Instead he pressed her onto the bed, their noses just barely touching, and he continued cooly, "Unlike me... you're married and you're - as far as I know - modest, and it's really hard for me to understand why someone like you would just waltz into my messed up life, tell me you care about me, steal my heart away, turn it upside down and then also expect me to tell you all that."

She blushed like a teenage girl would, just as he had wanted her to.


	17. These sparks

**Chapter Seventeen: These sparks

* * *

**

He thought he would sound more pitiful, a little aggressive maybe, but pitiful. Being Draco though, it came out cockier than expected. He found that his cheeks were burning nonetheless; she was certainly bright red. He had her locked down in between his arms, his hands grasping hers and their foreheads touching slightly. All Hermione could focus on were his bewitching eyes and a single strand of golden hair hanging off his ear. Being trapped within his arms wasn't part of her plan; now she really regretted not listening to the little voice in her head.

"Close your eyes."

"Draco, I..."

"Just do it."

She did, hesitantly. He was so compelling, it was hard to refuse. The world started spinning. At first she thought she was just imagining it, but when Draco told her to open her eyes again, she realized that the dizzy sensation earlier wasn't an illusion. Above her, millions of tiny white speckles glittered against a pitch-black sky. Draco had apparated them both to his manor's roof. He was now sitting next to her, sighing in relief as he too looked up at the stars. He had felt the need to get a grip of himself.

"I thought we both needed some fresh air," he said as he turned to face her, smiling smugly, "and I like surprising you."

She had a soft spot for that smile. Back when they were younger, when he was a malicious little brat, she had hated that familiar overweening smirk. Now though, either that he had grown onto her or that he had become more pleasant, she liked it. His cheeky smile was, in a way, adorable. Hermione sighed too in relief, glad to release that tension in his room earlier. It was early May, but the nights were still a little chilly. He put his arm around her shoulder to keep her warm. Hermione tried to assess whether this closeness with him was all right, but her mind can only think about how nice it felt leaning onto his shoulder. She remembered the last thing he said to her in his room, the way his face was so close to hers. She wondered how much of it came out of sheer provocation and how much of it was sincere, and what he would have done instead of apparating them here under the stars. She glanced at him. He seemed to read her mind.

"Thought I was going to smooch you earlier, didn't you?" he said with a chuckle.

She changed her mind about him being adorable; she couldn't stand him. "You are the most presumptuous male I've met in my life!" she shoved him hard.

He chuckled again, rubbing his shoulder where she had pushed him away, "I'll take that as a compliment." Now that he had decided to come clean, Draco was quite comfortable with being his usual cocky self.

"Well it wasn't," she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms scornfully. Draco wondered how she could look so cute when she was mad. He moved closer to her and unfolded her arms by taking one of her hands.

"Back to what I was saying earlier, Hermione..." he paused briefly. Since when did her name come out so naturally? She was thinking the same thing.

"You can relax... because I've decided to wait until you find me so absolutely irresistible that you couldn't keep yourself from kissing me."

She couldn't help but smile at his audacious statement,_ "_And what makes you think that such a day would come, Draco?"

He grinned, "Oh I don't know, for one, you've already told me that you're attracted to me..."

She corrected him quickly, trying to pull her hand away from his grasp, "I said I _care_ about you. Nobody said nothing about being attracted to you."

"Lies," he called her out with a laugh, holding onto her hand and wrapping his other arm around her again, teasingly, "You know you're attracted to me more than you're ready to admit. And that's okay for now, because I have no intention of having an affair with you either."

She tried to pull away again; he pulled her closer, so close that she was wary any movement might end in a kiss from him. Draco continued without concern, "I want you, and I want you for myself. I intend on you taking responsibility for making me feel this way."

"Are these bold declarations how it works for you?" she could feel her cheeks burning again. There was something incredibly seductive about his upfront attitude.

He smiled, arrogantly at first, but then his expression softened and he released his tight grip around her waist. Hermione didn't shy away, her clear eyes still staring up into his as she wondered what he was going to say. He raised one hand to stroke her soft cheek. She looked pretty with her wavy hair blowing in the wind.

"Isn't this what you wanted from me though?" his voice was gentle, "I thought you were asking me to be honest earlier."

She blinked a few times and looked away, realizing that he was right.

"Yes but... I didn't expect you to say such..." such embarrassingly forthright things to her.

"Like I said," He raised her chin with a finger to peer into her face, "I like surprising you."

She glanced up at him meekly. He had this tender expression on him that she'd only seen once before, after that kiss on her cheek only a week or so before. She knew he was right. She was attracted to him, far more than she was back when they were younger, far more than she was willing to admit. It was hard to think that this gentle Draco was the same man as that hesitant but arrogant boy when he first received his Dark Mark. Only tonight had she again seen his cold expression when he was with the other Death Eaters, but now she had come to understand that was his front. His defenses were thick, but for some reason... some reason, he decided to allow her in. This was the real Draco - pompous and overbearing nonetheless, but unbelievably tender and honest at the same time. He deserved her honesty too.

_Pop._

They both turned around, startled. There behind them appeared Symon.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Master... Mistress Hermione," Symon said apologetically, "But Symon wanted to let you know that he just sent the Ministry man back."

Hermione found herself nearly tearing up at the sight of Symon. Black and purple spots were visible on his cheeks where Kreacher had hit him hard; there was a loosely fitting bandage around where he got cuts from the flying knives, but his arm still limped just slightly when he moved. She stood up and went closer to Symon, who shuddered at her sudden movement before being completely taken off guard by her soft touch on his face.

"I'm so sorry, Symon... I didn't stop him earlier when I could have... how could they do this..." she held back the tears.

"It is not a problem, Mistress Hermione... Symon is okay," he fumbled his fingers, not accustomed to the gentle touch of a human hand. If house elves blushed, he surely would have.

Draco watched them from behind. He wondered whether these abuses occurred even during his father's lifetime. Maybe his father was even a part of it. He found himself angered by the fact that he had never realized what his aunt had been doing behind his back.

"Why did you never tell me about this, Symon," Draco couldn't quite take the authoritative tone out of his voice.

Symon shivered and responded, "I... I'm sorry Master... Symon... Symon was told not to tell."

"By?"

Symon shuffled a little before responded softly, "Mistress..."

Draco ran his hand through his hair in frustration, the image of a cackling Bellatrix LeStrange annoyingly stuck in his head. But what was more mind-boggling was the contradicting actions of this little house elf. He spied on Draco, and yet, apparently he had been hiding information from Bellatrix.

"... What I don't understand is this," he laid it out to Symon mainly, but really was talking to Hermione too, "You were sent here to this house by the Dark Lord himself. If I were you, it'd be quite obvious whom your loyalty should lie with to be safe. Why would you hide things from Bellatrix LeStrange of all people when you could have just betrayed me long ago? Why let her do this to you?"

Symon fumbled his fingers more, his eyes darting side to side nervously.

Hermione nudged Draco with her elbow to remind him how frightened Symon was of speaking his mind in front of them.

Draco sighed and bent down to Symon's level for the second time that night.

"It's fine, Symon. I won't be angry whatever you say."

Symon looked up, a small glint of hope in his eyes.

"I promise," Draco said with a reassuring nod.

Symon's eyes darted around again until his eyes met with Hermione's. She smiled encouragingly at him, giving him the courage to speak.

"Symon... Symon is from a family with a strange skin condition, Master..." he started slowly.

As usual, neither Draco nor Hermione had any idea where he was getting at, but they nodded approvingly anyway to keep him going.

"We all inherited this ugly green color," he pulled at the skin on his arm sadly, "but we also all received great powers..." Symon closed his eyes; in an instant, he disappeared. Draco and Hermione stared at the empty space and were astonished when they could still hear his little squeaky voice coming from the same direction as before. House elves were not known for invisibility.

"Symon can hide like this," he popped back into existence again, "we also have sharper hearing and vision at night. And..." Now it _really_ freaked Hermione and Draco out. They can hear Symon's voice in their heads, "Symon can also read minds if he tried..." It was very disorienting and it took them a second to realize Symon had stopped talking in their heads and was actually speaking to them, "But we don't usually because those we use it on will notice... We have powers that the Dark Master liked very much... but other house elves hated us because of them."

His ears drooped pitifully. Hermione thought of Kreacher and Mabel and frowned. _Hating _Symon might be too soft an excuse for their actions. Their maliciousness was despicable.

"Symon lost father when Symon was still a baby," he was continuing, "our family got arrested during the last war." When he meant family, Hermione understood that he meant his_ wizard_ family, the family Symon's father had served then.

"That was when the Dark Master took Symon in... he kept Symon in the dark house until Symon was old enough to serve a new master."

The dark house. Draco knew exactly what place Symon was referring to. There might not be a better way to describe where Voldermort resided. It was dark, gloomy, and always smelled of decaying wood. Actually, maybe calling it the _death_ house would be more appropriate - plenty men and women were brought there to die, in front of the Dark Lord.

"My first master was Master Lucius. Symon didn't like... didn't like Master Lucius," Symon looked more nervous than before, "but Symon was scared of the Dark Master even more.... so Symon listened to the Dark Master... and told him everything Master Lucius did or didn't do..."

Now Symon cowered, fearing what Draco would say. Draco didn't say anything. His thoughts went back to his late father, who lashed out at Symon on a day to day basis. Draco pitied his father for the torn man he was, but he had no sympathy for Symon back then. Draco knew then that Symon was a spy in his house, a spy his family couldn't get rid of. Symon's words did not surprise him. He nodded and asked Symon to continue.

"When Master Lucius passed away... I was told to watch young Master this time. I thought it would be the same again. Master was angry always, like Master Lucius. But since Master found Mistress Hermione... Master is... Master is not the same."

Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly in amusement; it took all of Draco's self-control not to blush.

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked curiously. Draco would have paid anything to not have Hermione in this conversation right now.

"Master was not always angry," Symon replied, his eyes shining a little in excitement, "Master seemed happier around Mistress Hermione. Symon was happy too... so Symon wanted to help Master and Symon stopped telling Mistress Bellatrix about Master... Mistress was very angry, and she put... put Symon..." he was shaking violently, barely able to continue speaking. Hermione, who was kneeling next to him, put a gentle arm around his little shoulders as he started sobbing. Symon had never told anyone his story.

"...That's enough," Draco suddenly said as he stood up, looking rather... shaken.

"Did Symon make Master angry?" the little house elf asked meekly, noticing his master's deep frown.

"No... no, Symon," Draco shook his head, "It's just... it's quite enough, that's all." He would rather Symon spare him the details of the tortures.

Symon had always just been a house elf to him. A servant spying on his family, but a house elf and nothing more. He never thought that this tiny creature could be so furiously loyal to him. Even Draco himself had never defied the Dark Lord or Bellatrix LeStrange outright in his life. It was hard to change his perspective of Symon suddenly right now.

Hermione stood up from Symon's side and walked up to Draco, taking his hand with concern, "Your aunt... Bellatrix. She's been accusing you of treachery because of me, hasn't she?" She was remembering Kreacher's accusations in the kitchen earlier. She glanced at Symon, who walked up to her and looked up at her wonderingly while gently grasping the hem of her jeans.

"So you've heard too?" Draco smiled bitterly. The thought of Bellatrix watching over him for the Dark Lord, through Symon, and going as far as to torture the small creature for information... Draco realized how little that evil woman trusted him, and how much power she had over his family until only recently. His father certainly knew she was behind all this to some degree. Despite being relatives, they never seemed to truly get along. Thinking about his broken family, Draco let his hand lie limp in Hermione's hand. Right now, he lacked the mental strength to squeeze back.

"She's quite something really..." he muttered sourly, "Just tonight, that hell of a woman dropped me a warning... reminding me my mother was _at her discretion_."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. It was nothing less than what she would expect of Bellatrix LeStrange, but it was still disturbing.

"It's nothing new," he shrugged, his eyes now looking far away, "She's always suspected that I wasn't loyal enough. Mother knew her sister was trying to control me through her until she lost her mind. Father's death really hit her. But I thought at least she was safe with my aunt... after all they are sisters. But now..." he turned and gazed at the woman before him, this woman that he cared for as much as if not more than his own mother, this woman that didn't belong to him.

He raised his free hand and stroked her cheek lightly, "I guess I have more to lose than before."

Hermione wanted to press her cheek onto his palm, to sink into his warmth and escape from everything else around them. But she dared not. It was a simple gesture, and yet the underlying affection... she would be overwhelmed, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back. She was only brave enough to allow herself to close her eyes briefly, feeling his soft touch. His words - they weren't words she knew Draco would say to her, or to anyone. In her mind she went back to their walk among the castle ruin, the sunset shimmering on the water below... the way she felt warm and safe standing right next to him. She was infatuated with him while at Hogwarts; but from that day on, that day on the tower, her feelings had become deeper, she felt closer to him. He might be a Death Eater, but all the new things she had discovered about him tonight... none of it made her care about him less.

She opened her eyes slowly, unsure how well she could hold back her emotions and still be honest with him.

"Draco."

She felt her lips quiver a little.

"Yes?"

She almost swallowed back what she was about to say; but he was looking at her so fondly... it broke her heart.

Taking his hand on her cheek and holding it in her hands, she spoke softly, "You're right, Draco... I'm scared to admit my feelings for you."

His eyes widened a little.

"I've never felt so strongly for anyone.. like ... I do for you.."

No, it was all flowing out; she couldn't hold it in. Her words spilled out hurriedly, so quickly that she couldn't process what she was saying. "And I thought when you decided to be a Death Eater, that it would be the end of our friendship... The way you looked at me, so coldly, when you walked away... I gave up on talking to you. And I realized.. that maybe that was a huge mistake. And now I wonder whether things would have been different if I pressed further, if you would have opened up to me... if you would have... if I would have married..."

Imbued by intense emotions, Draco didn't let her finish and began to pull her into his arms; but she quickly resisted. She wasn't going to cross the line.

"Hermione..." his voice was frustrated.

She put a finger on his lips, stopping him from speaking any further. It was as if her heart had stopped. The words came out without her thinking. Her voice was determined.

"I can't leave him, Draco. I just. can't.... It's too late."

He looked into her eyes; they were brimming with tears. It didn't escape his notice too that her gaze lingered on his lips as she pulled her finger away. He knew he'd be able to make her change her mind right now if he tried. His natural inclination was to pull her in, right then right there, letting passion and lust take over their senses. And yet, he was surprised to find that his rational mind was still telling him the contrary.

She'd pull away instead. He knew Hermione that much. She'd pull away if he forced her, but she'd go away if he didn't stop her... it was a no-win situation.

"I don't know how you do it," Draco said sadly.

She looked up at him.

"I don't know how you manage to keep me wrapped around your finger after telling me all that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

It took all her strength not to cry.

He pulled something out from his cloak pocket. Her eyes followed his movement.

She gasped softly when she saw her wand and her stress stone.

"I actually found out about you tonight before Symon told me because... I found these in the yard," he said, handing Hermione her possessions.

She looked down at the stress stone, it looked different from how she remembered it.

"Also, I changed the spell a little."

"Wha... how?" Hermione knew that even the Ministry had to hire a special team to figure out how to properly use the stress stones - much less to modify them.

He smirked, "These are originally made by dark wizards. We all know how to fix it. Not telling you how though, you'll have to figure it out yourself."

_Cheeky bastard._

He chuckled at her mockingly irritated expressions, and picked up the stress stone from her palm, "You don't need this to protect yourself against me anymore, Hermione... I'll never hurt you."

She bit her lip. Sweet things she wished he'd stop saying, and he kept saying it.

"And when something goes wrong in the future, you can decide who to call with it. Just wish for the person strongly... It'll still call your field commander if you need him. Though if you call me, I doubt you'd ever need him."

He was being so playful, and yet, there was little playfulness in his voice.

She was going home, once again leaving him. And he cursed himself silently.

_Very smart, Draco. The one person you fall for, is the one person you'll never have._

x x x

Down in muggle London, Harry and Layla had just left the Mexican restaurant.

"I really liked the food there... veery spicy!" Layla exclaimed with a hiccup. They've had quite a few drinks during dinner, and muggle alcohol seemed to be stronger than what they were used to.

"I didn't like the drinks though... they were so bland," she said with another hiccup.

Harry tried to hold up a stumbling Layla, walking down the streets. There was a dull pain in his head from all the alcohol, but he was quite clearheaded.

"You're really out of it, Layla," Harry said worriedly.

"I am not, Harry," she exclaimed, "And don't you dare give me a sobering potion! I'm at a very good place right now."

He shook his head. _Best to take her home immediately._

As they stumbled through muggle London for Harry to find a good hiding spot for them to disapparate, Layla quickly discovered a new destination - a bar.

"Harry! Have you ever been to a muggle bar? Here's one!"

Harry looked up. It was a disco bar. He had never been to one, but he knew enough to know this wasn't the time to visit one.

"Layla, I don't think..." he didn't get to finish his sentence, for Layla broke free of his grip and strolled right into the bar.

"Damn it," Harry swore, quickly following her into the bar. He was thankful that nobody stopped him. Neither of them had a muggle ID to show their ages.

Harry somehow managed to find Layla sitting at a bar all the way inside, giggling as the bartender offered her a drink. Harry quickly snatched the drink from her hand and pushed it across the counter back to the bartender. _No this girl doesn't need more drinks,_ he said with his look at the bartender.

Loud techno music boomed in their ears. Layla said something, but Harry couldn't make out the words.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"I said, MUGGLES LISTEN TO WEIRD MUSIC, DON'T THEY?" she giggled again.

"Yes, they do. Now Layla, WE REALLY SHOULD GO."

The music changed to a happy punk rock number, Layla's ears seemed to perk up, "I like this song, it's spunky!"

He grabbed her arm again before she could go dancing away into the vast crowd, "Layla, if you want to stay here, you have to take this," he spoke into her ear because his throat really hurt with all the shouting.

Layla looked down at his hand, it was a sobering potion. She pouted defiantly.

"Layla," Harry said one last time.

Even in her inebriated state, Layla recognized that authoritative voice Harry used at work. She took the vial from him obediently and opened the cap.

"Fine, I'll drink half of it. Is that okay with you?"

Harry nodded. Half should be enough to bring the normal Layla back, he hoped.

She chugged half the swirling silver liquid down. A gust of sparkling powder surrounded her briefly. Harry hoped nobody noticed the magical dust, but it was the least of his worries. Layla had found herself to the dance floor already, dancing and raving with the young muggles. He thought he'd just watch her from the bar, but quickly he realized that was a bad idea. Already a drunken young man was approaching her, quite forcefully in fact. Harry groaned and got off his feet to force his way through the excited crowd.

"She's with me," he said firmly, wrapping his arm around Layla's shoulder as she stumbled into his arms. The young man seemed quite confused and even offended by Harry, but he backed off quickly anyway. He wasn't interested in a brawl.

Harry watched and made sure the inebriated man went away.

"Thank you, Harry," Layla gasped in relief, wrapping her arms around him, "he wasn't really my type."

Harry turned back to look at her and said jokingly, "Should I back off if the next one around is?"

She chuckled, "No, it's alright. I'm hanging out with you tonight," they still had their arms around each other, "Let's stay close while we're here. I feel safer."

He'd never stood so close to her before. Actually he probably has during work, just not on a dance floor. Either way the embrace was quite platonic, Harry was uncomfortable only for a moment. The music changed into something smoother and less wild. They barely noticed that most people around them were couples. Standing so close made him realize something he'd never noticed before.

"I never knew, Layla... you have green eyes," he remarked in wonder as they rocked side to side to the music.

Layla shoved him just a little, "Honestly Harry! We've known each other for years!"

He apologized with a laugh, and then looked at her eyes again. At first he had thought that the strange disco light scattered all over them was playing tricks on his eyes, but yes, her eyes were a beautiful light green, like beryl. It really was a wonder how he'd never noticed before.

Layla was looking into his eyes too, "So do you. Yours are much darker than mine though."

Harry nodded, "My mum had these too, from what I've heard." He thought about her again; so many times he had wished he'd known her. He was too young back then to remember anything about her when she was alive.

Layla understood the underlying emotions Harry had for his mother, and looked at him with empathy. For unlike most others, she _knew_ how he felt about his parents. She understood him, and thought about her own parents. Like Harry, she was too young to remember her mother. Thinking about her parents reminded her of Ariel. She missed her sister very much. Layla wished she could cry, but she wasn't really the type to. Instead she held Harry closer and tried not to think about her lost too much.

"...I haven't danced like this with a guy for so long," she said softly.

Harry seemed to have come out of a trance too.

"Was it a Frenchman?"

Layla chuckled at Harry's assumption. Though he could have well been right. Layla and her sister were taken in by an old French couple when they were younger; it was the reason why Layla never went to Hogwarts. Her foster parents wanted her to stay in the French countryside. She only moved to the UK in recent years.

"Actually, he was British. But he grew up in France too. I was sixteen..." she looked into the air dreamily, remembering the handsome boy she used to love. Then she looked at Harry again, still smiling, "It was just three days of bliss, Harry. But it was true love. I still think about him sometimes."

Harry laughed a little, not believing her, "Three days, Layla. Really. You knew you loved him in three days?"

She was a little offended, "Does it matter how long I've known him?"

"Well, I don't see how you can fall in love with someone in three days. Love takes years Layla." He felt old saying it.

She looked up at him from within his arms, "Like you and Hermione?"

She didn't mean to hurt him; it was a simple question. But Harry went silent.

Layla realized she had caused pain and apologized, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just that... Love happens, Harry. It doesn't matter whether it's three days or three years. When you love someone... you know you do," she then said confidently, "I know I did."

He bit his lip, a habit he had picked up from Hermione, "How did you know really?"

He thought about Hermione. Even though he was agitated by her evident affection for Draco Malfoy, Harry had always thought that since those two had really only seen each other a few times since a month ago, there was little to worry about her truly falling in love with Malfoy. Layla would probably think the contrary if he explained it to her, which troubled him.

"Well..." Layla thought about it, "You feel these sparks when you kiss them, but not for others. That's one. I'm sure you and Hermione feel it when you kiss."

He wasn't so sure. Harry couldn't remember if he had or not lately... well lately, they hadn't even kissed at all.

"So? Doesn't everyone feel something special when they kiss? I have yet to kiss someone I'm not excited about."

He thought back to his first girlfriend, Cho, and remembered being ecstatic about his first kiss. Layla, on the other hand, had kissed many more guys than she had dated. She knew the difference alright.

"Well, if say, you and I kissed, I'm sure you won't feel it."

Harry arched an eyebrow, he was skeptical.

"I can prove it."

It was something Layla wouldn't have done if she weren't still a little tipsy. Taking just half the vial of sobering potion might had been a mistake. In fact, despite whatever Harry may had thought, he was a little intoxicated too. So when Layla pressed her lips against his, Harry protested initially, but soon gave in.

Her lips felt curiously foreign; they were cold and soft. Kissing someone new after becoming accustomed to the way a single person kisses.... feels very strange, and at times, electrifying. That feeling wasn't an exception for Harry. Layla was young, soft, beautiful and knew how to kiss well. It started as a soft sensual kiss, which then quickly spiraled down into a fervent embrace. In his half-aware state, Harry found that they were entangled in each other's arms, and that he was kissing her and caressing her in a way that the other half of his brain told him was absolutely inappropriate. But soon physical desire won over, shutting his brain out completely. Until Layla spoke.

"Harry... HARRY," Layla gasped in between his desperate kisses, "Stop. Please, we have to stop."

He came back to his senses; quickly he withdrew his hands from the wall where he had her cornered against.

Layla hooked her messy hair onto her ear, combing it out with her fingers self-consciously. An awkward silence persisted for a while.

Harry rubbed his hair in embarrassment and stuck his other hand into his pocket. Hesitantly he spoke, "Uh, you want to... get out of here?"

She nodded.

Outside, a chilly wind blew in their faces, bringing them out of their still slightly feverish state.

"I'm so sorry, I went too far," she apologized at the traffic light.

The light turned green, Harry started walking again, still not looking at her in the face, "No, I'm sorry too... I wasn't thinking." In fact, he didn't quite know what to think.

Halfway down the next block, Layla stopped at her footsteps. Harry noticed and turned around, looking at her in the face for the first time since before the kiss.

She didn't reciprocate the gaze when she started speaking, "Harry, I hope you know that kiss didn't mean anything. I..." she looked up at him now, looking a little shaken, "You're like an older brother to me. I respect you so much, Harry. I really... don't know what I was thinking."

He shook his head saying that it was fine, "Same here."

But it wasn't fine. He wasn't sure whether what happened counted as taking advantage of a subordinate. After all, she was a younger member in his team. He felt awful. On top of that, he wasn't so sure if Layla had proved her point or not. Whatever were the sparks she was talking about earlier, he certainly felt something that aroused unfamiliar feelings for her.

"Promise you wouldn't start avoiding me tomorrow?" she asked pleadingly.

He nodded with hesitation.

It is always hard to promise something like that directly in the aftermath, when you're still confused.

x x x

When Harry arrived home, Hermione was already back, sitting in an armchair.

She was dreamily looking out the window as she rolled the stress stone in her hand. Thinking about Draco, it was unbelievable how genuine he had been with her today, especially after all that had happened with her spying on the house elves. She tried to remember what she had said to him exactly in her nervous state of mind. She remembered mumbling a lot, and she wondered if he really understood how she felt about him. And then she wondered whether it would be better if he didn't understand. If he did, if he truly did understand her feelings... She sighed. It was so liberating to be open to each other, it was becoming really difficult for her to stop thinking about him. Whatever she felt for him, she had decided not to dwell on it. That was her decision, and Hermione wasn't someone who was willing to budge when she knew what was right and what was wrong. But she was also sick of her own stubborn refusal to acknowledge her feelings for him. She liked him. She really liked him a lot. The thought was overwhelming.

Harry stood at the doorway, watching his wife smiling softly to her own thoughts. Her smile was tender and sad at the same time. He wondered if he'd ever seen her smile like that thinking about him. He doubted that she was thinking about him now, and the fact that he doubted her at all... there was no denying that their marriage was falling apart slowly. And on top of that, he had just kissed Layla tonight. The impression of her lips on his own... it was still very clear. He felt dirty. He wanted to forget that feeling, that lustful sensation holding her. Harry quietly walked over to Hermione, who looked up at him and noticed for the first time that he had returned.

Harry leaned down into her face and kissed her gently on her lips. It was a kiss like always, the only way he knew how to kiss her these days. He noticed how she blinked in surprise as their lips parted; she had not expected a kiss. Harry sat down in the sofa opposite her and grunted softly in pain when he remembered that the sofa was always just a little harder than he would imagine.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked in concern, "You look... scary."

He glanced at her, "... Something seem wrong to you too?"

She blinked again, quite speechless. He had been rather upset lately, but he was downright strange tonight.

He didn't speak for a while either, just staring at her. His thoughts were too disjointed to be organized into words. Flashes of the night's memory came into his mind - the Mexican restaurant, the last thing he was working on at work, the disco bar, the streets of London, and most of all... Layla's kiss. When the words finally came out, he realized how far his thoughts had jumped to.

"So what have you been up to, Hermione? Colins wouldn't tell me what you were doing tonight when I asked earlier."

"I was... working," she blushed furiously, remembering Draco, his bedroom, the roof and the stars, his words and her words... and she looked out of the window again. It was way more than just 'working'. It was a long night of emotional discovery for her, for Draco. As for Harry's emotional discovery... it had only just begun. He was annoyed at her vague answer, but he also realized he had no courage to confess his own doing tonight. He sighed.

"You can't be honest with me either, can you..." He felt that a concoction of anger towards her and himself was about to erupt from within, "I guess I have things now I can't be truthful about either."

She turned back towards him inquisitively, frightened by the way he was speaking so coldly. She knew that ice in his voice, that voice he used when he was absolutely irate. Harry's anger always seethed only just slightly on the surface, until it would burst out of control.

Harry on the other hand, was comparing his kiss earlier with Layla to the one he gave Hermione just now. It wasn't comparable, his earlier kiss with Hermione was too much like a greeting. And greeting kisses were all they had in a long while. He stood up and came towards her, startling Hermione. Harry had never used violence before, but when he pulled her off her seat, Hermione couldn't help but shiver in fright. And so when he took her in his arms and kissed her, Hermione was completely taken aback. His kiss was one-sided and insistent for a while, until Hermione finally gave in and kissed back. It was a confusing kiss. She couldn't help but note how desperately he latched onto her, and her mind was filled with so many other thoughts, she couldn't concentrate. She tried, but soon Harry stopped kissing her and she opened her eyes. He opened his eyes too, his eyes darting around her face in puzzlement.

He realized then, that kissing Layla, someone he wasn't attracted to, had stirred up intense arousal earlier, while kissing Hermione... he didn't feel it. Whatever sparks Layla was talking about, he didn't feel it. When was the last time he had felt those sparks with her?

He was holding on to her very tightly, but Hermione was so bewildered by him that she decided to mention one thing at a time. First was the confusing kiss. "Harry... what is this about... You're confusing me."

He released her from his grip and fell back onto the sofa. It dawned on him - there was no chemistry between them.

"It's over, Hermione. We can't possibly be together anymore."

Her eyes went wide in shock, "Wha-"

He didn't stop there, "I kissed someone else tonight, Hermione. I kissed her... and I kissed you, and now I realize that we're not working," he pointed at her and then at himself, a bitter smile on his lips, "Love, our marriage, it's not working."

His confession fell like a bomb on her head.

"What do you mean we're not... what happened tonight, Harry? Tell me."

He looked at her hard, "Yea... what happened tonight, Hermione? You looked quite romantically absorbed there in your armchair earlier. Did something happen _at work_?"

His sarcasm offended her. She had unfaithful thoughts, yes. She had confessed her feelings to the one of her affection, yes. But she had hidden those feelings within her for a long time now, and she had yet to actually carry out her physical desires. Even so, she couldn't quite forgive herself for those disloyal thoughts - and here Harry was accusing her, nailing her right where it was blameworthy - albeit a little misguided - and then... and then he tells her he had kissed another woman tonight.

"Harry, I haven't kissed anyone else tonight," she responded to take that doubt off his mind, but she could see it wasn't working.

"Something more then?" he asked. He couldn't think of any other reason that would stop her from telling him outright about what happened tonight. He was guilty, and he didn't quite want to describe what happened to him and Layla. Hermione evidently believed she was guilty too, and the only reason she would be so... no, he couldn't think of any reason other than that she had been adulterous too.

Hermione was now truly offended.

"HARRY, I HAVEN'T HAD SEX WITH DRACO."

He flinched at the volume of her voice, and then realizing that what she had just said, bitterness filled ever inch of him.

"You call him Draco now? Does he call you by your name too? Since when have you two become so intimate?"

She went all scarlet. It was exactly the response he dreaded most.

No. She's actually_ in love,_ with _him_. It was worse than finding out that she had kissed him, or even had sex with him. Finding out that Draco Malfoy had somehow stolen her heart in the few times they'd seen each other recently... after years of their marriage... after thinking she'd forgotten about Malfoy after Hogwarts... it was unbearable. It was heart-wrenching.

He turned away from her and whispered painfully, "you love him."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her. The carpeted floor felt wobbly under her feet. Harry knew. He knew now.

"How can you..." his voice trailed off, his own unfaithful actions stopped him from continuing.

But she took it wrongly, "Harry... you just told me you kissed someone."

And he erupted with emotion, "But you love him!" he couldn't contain himself, "What I did was despicable... but you - you LOVE him! That's not the same, Hermione!"

She couldn't contain her emotions any longer either, "Yes. I do, Harry," tears rolled down her cheeks as she admitted to his accusations, "I can't do anything about it. I've tried. I tried to quit. I can't...."

_Like an addiction. Draco Malfoy. And I can't quit._

He stared at her briefly, and then asked the real question he wanted to ask all night, "Do you love me, Hermione?"

She bit her lip and hesitated. He knew that gesture well, so well that he had adopted it himself. The brief moment she hesitated felt like eternity, and when more tears rolled off her cheeks instead of an answer... he wanted to cry. He wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. He envied her for being able to cry so freely right now. He hated how he pitied her because of those tears. He hated how he loved her so much that he could almost forgive her for sharing her heart with someone else. But he couldn't. He couldn't forgive her. So Harry looked away and then stood up to walk towards the front door, grabbing his coat on the way. She watched his back without a word. She knew what he'd say next and she wished he'd turn around to look at her, even just once. Just once to show that they still had a connection with each other. Something warm even if it would hurt.

"I can't stand it knowing who you're thinking of even right now." She was sad that he still didn't turn to look at her, and every word of his stung.

"I'm not staying here tonight," and then he disapparated. He never turned back to look at her.

Hermione couldn't lie. The truth would hurt him, even though the truth was that she wasn't sure. But whether she still loved him or not, Harry was her best friend. He had always been so. She wished she could have at least told him that. But she knew, even that would have hurt him more.


	18. Soapsuds

**Chapter Eighteen: Soapsuds

* * *

**

Draco woke up in the middle of the night to a burning sensation in his left hand. In his dream until a moment ago, a younger Hermione was clutching onto his sleeve, begging him not to join the other Death Eaters for the battle ahead. He tossed and turned in his sleep, and at first when he opened his eyes, he thought he was just missing her again and told himself to get a grip. Cold sweat was trickling down his forehead. He raised his hands to rub it off, only to find that his left hand was actually burning hot. He looked at it - the stress stone mark had appeared in his palm. It was glowing. Quickly he got up and summoned with his wand his clothes and his cloak. It could only mean one thing - she needed him right now.

Draco apparated into Moonstone Café with a pop. The coffee shop was darker than the last time he had visited, when he asked Hermione to see him there. Apart from the dimly lit lights on the walls, the only other light source was a wavering flame on a candle in one of the booths. It was the same booth as last time where they had sat. Her back was to the door. He couldn't see her facial expressions. She was also alone, which allowed Draco to let down his guard and his wand. Whatever it was, it didn't seem like she was in mortal danger.

He walked up to her slowly and tried to decide whether he should sit next to her or sit opposite her like last time. It was a fine line between a courteous friendship and an intimate one. He chose to sit next to her. Hermione didn't protest, in fact it wasn't clear whether she noticed he was there. Her head hung low and her long wavy hair mostly covered her face. Draco hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders and gently hooked her hair onto her ear. He could finally see her face, though she had her eyes shut and tears were flowing down her cheeks. Her hair was slightly damp from the tears. Draco had never held someone crying before, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. In his best effort to comfort her, he patted her shoulder now and then. Her silence frightened him. She was shivering just a little, just enough that he would almost miss it even with his arm around her. Draco also noticed that she dressed differently than usual; she was wearing a loosely fitting sweater and a pair of worn-down jeans. The Hermione he knew since the time he'd seen her at the Opera House was always nicely dressed. This sweater-pants thing... It was strangely refreshing, as if they had returned to the times when they lived right next to each other at Hogwarts. She certainly dressed more casually then.

Even in this solemn moment Draco couldn't help but feel a little pleased that she wanted to see him desperately enough not to dress up before calling for him. He hoped it was a sign that she really missed him, and then told himself that he was reading too much into it. She was probably just really upset. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was half past two in the morning. Could it be that she just got out of bed and left home in the middle of the night? And where was that husband of hers?

"Hermione," he nudged softly, breaking the silence.

She opened her eyes and sniffed, wiping her tears off with a hand.

"Thank you for coming..." she choked, clutching to her sweater, "I was... just starting to think that this was a bad idea."

He raised an eyebrow mockingly, "Why? I'm happy you called for me, especially in the middle of the night... I hope you missed me in bed."

She chuckled weakly. He smiled at her laughter.

"You always try to make me feel better," she hiccupped, still smiling.

"Are you sure about that? I think I tease you way more often than I'm nice to you."

"Yea... but you make me laugh," she smiled at him, one last tear rolled down her cheek and left a trail mark on her face.

It was true. She did seem to enjoy his sarcasm for the most part. It probably helped that he no longer meant to hurt when he joked around her. He wasn't as nice when they were younger. When he made fun of her he was laughing _with_ her, instead of just laughing at her. It was a big difference.

Besides, "I like it better when you smile too," he raised her chin with a gentle hand, looking into her pretty round eyes.

She looked up at him and stared into his. Such a beautiful grey. She wished he'd just stare at her like that, all the time. He stroked her cheek, wiping the wet tear stain off gently. Hermione closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his palm. Draco noticed the difference from earlier that night - she didn't hold back when he touched her cheek.

"Your hand is so warm," she whispered, holding up her hand to touch his. Her voice was unintentionally seductive and her touch made him gulp nervously

"They're... usually quite cold," he stuttered.

She opened her eyes; they were red, puffy, and looked thoughtful through those cute tears. He'd never want to see her cry… but she did look sweet with tear streaks on her cheeks like that.

"You're not going to ask me why I called for you?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Not unless you want to tell me," he added.

Hermione thought about explaining herself, but she wasn't sure if she could. She had been lying awake in bed for hours since Harry left. When she finally decided she should go out and find him, all she learnt were stories of her drunken husband from bar owners and street sweepers of Diagon Alley. She heard how Harry stumbled through the streets, crashing into trashcans, completely wasted and getting more drinks at another bar somewhere downtown. Harry had become something of an alcoholic in recent years, especially since he became an Auror officially. She had been concerned at times, but this time she felt guilty enough not to be mad at him. It was still quite embarrassing for her to scuttle around town though, hearing all these stories. At one bar, Hermione learned that 'a lady friend' had arrived to pick Harry up, apologizing profusely to the owner for his wild drunk behavior.

"She seemed to know him well, I thought it was his girlfriend picking his drunk arse up... apparently not," the owner had said, eyeing Hermione in a way that made her uncomfortable.

"You're sure they knew each other?" Hermione asked anxiously, trying to ignore his leer.

The owner laughed. His laughter was like thunder, which matched his stocky stature. It rocked the tiny bar a little. "She's not a prostitute, I'm sure! Looked decent to me. Maybe it's a friend of yours, no? That was almost an hour ago. You sure your sweetheart's not home already?"

He wasn't able to pin point how the mystery lady friend looked when Hermione asked, except that the girl was about her age and that she forced a sobering potion down Harry's throat. That was Hermione's last clue to where Harry could be. She apparated home, hoping that this 'lady friend' had brought him back. Whoever she was, she sounded levelheaded and sober enough. But the apartment was empty as ever. Possibly this mystery woman had taken Harry to her place instead. Hermione thought of visiting Ron now. She hoped it was somehow his wife Jenny's doing. But then she noticed how ridiculously late it was already, and that Ron would probably have been involved if Jenny was there too. Two a.m. She wasn't going to wake the Weasleys now. The thought of having to explain their quarrel to Ron made her sick in the stomach. She had yet to sort out herself, and Ron wasn't exactly the kind of friend to go to sort one's self out to. He'd panic with her instead. Or worse, panic _against_ her. Hermione didn't really want to imagine what Ron would say about her feelings for Draco. She was fairly certain that Ron still held a grudge against him.

She glanced up at Draco who was still softly stroking her hair. She had called for him. When she began to feel really desperate and felt incredibly lonely sitting in the middle of her apartment, fretting over Harry's disappearance, she realized the person she really wanted to see at that moment wasn't Ron, or even Harry. It was him... it had been Draco all night long. She blamed herself for not having enough willpower to let him go completely; but tonight Hermione couldn't judge what was right or wrong anymore. Staying with Harry and treasuring what they have had for the past years seemed like the obvious answer, despite objections from her heart... but Harry had seen her through. She wasn't fooling anyone – her heart belonged to the man holding her right now, and sitting here with him felt right.

She wrapped her arm around his waist, basking herself in the cologne he was wearing. The scent was rich and calming. Draco turned down to look at her, surprised at the sudden intimacy. Her head was leaning onto his shoulder, and he couldn't see her facial expression readily to judge what she was thinking. Instead of mentioning it he leaned onto her head and savored the moment. Her hair was soft and a little puffy, and he liked how it smelled sweetly citric. The shampoo scent suited her well. Draco closed his eyes to immerse in it for as long as the moment would last, every second dreading the "we can't do this" coming out of that sad little mouth again. It was in that agonizingly bittersweet moment when he heard the sound of flapping wings. Hermione seemed to have heard it too. She stirred in his embrace.

It was an owl, a small one unfamiliar to either of them. It flew down onto their table - how it got into the cafe was beyond their knowledge - and tapped Hermione on her shoulder with its beak. It was then that they noticed the folded note in its beak. More puzzling was how the creature found Hermione, whom they soon found out the little note was for. Owls always had a knack at finding people.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm sorry it took this long to write. I hope this letter gets to you before you start getting too worried. I found Harry quite drunk at a bar earlier tonight so I took him home to tend at him. Well, actually a friend of mine at the bar called me because he recognized Harry from when we went there another time. I was going to take him to your place instead, but he insisted on not doing so. He's asleep now in my sister's old room. Please don't worry, I'll convince him again in the morning._

_Take care,  
Layla_

Draco raised an eyebrow reading the content of the letter along with Hermione. So it seemed that Potter had made a scene while at a bar, and was refusing to go home. Draco couldn't help but wonder whether their fight had anything to do with him. A part of him strongly hoped so, but another part of him knew he'd feel guilty for causing her pain. He glanced at Hermione and noticed that she sighed in relief, looking visibly more relaxed. But then that frown on her face again.

"So- you had a quarrel with him?" Draco asked innocently.

She sat there motionless for a moment, and then slowly nodded, clutching the letter in her hands.

"Who's Layla?" he asked again, trying to get to the topic in a roundabout way.

She took her time to speak up, "She's... Harry's co-worker. A good friend of his." She was quite lost in thoughts.

"A young girl? Blonde one?" His mind flashed back to that night when Draco bumped into Harry and the young blonde girl in Knockturn Alley.

Hermione raised her eyebrow suspiciously, "How did you know?"

Oh shit.

He looked at her long and hard, "only if you promise you'll never tell your boss, or Potter for that matter." In fact there were many other things he'd not want her to tell her boss yet, like everything that she saw this past night at his house. They'll talk about that later.

She nodded, looking mildly confused. Draco took a deep breath and explained how he saw them in Knockturn Alley the other night, when he was handling a package from another Death Eater.

"Potter and the girl was apparently on duty to intercept our business exchange... They didn't see me though."

Hermione listened to his story quietly. It made him uncomfortable how she was staring at him, especially after he'd just told her about his secret transaction.

"And you saw them, but didn't do anything?"

She sounded surprise that he didn't attack the two Aurors, who were perfectly unaware of his existence.

Draco didn't know why but his cheeks turned a light flush of pink. Somehow he felt embarrassed for not having attacked Potter like a regular Death Eater would, and he knew why. He didn't want to say it out loud though - that she was the reason why he chose to avoid the Aurors instead of confronting them. But the way he blushed, the way he looked at her - she figured him out quickly. A small smile crept onto her lips.

"Thank you, Draco."

He coughed and looked away, pretending not to have heard her.

"Really," she inched towards him, taking his hand that he just pretended to cough into, "He's my best friend... I'm grateful that you chose not to touch him. I respect you for that."

Now he was downright embarrassed, except he had heard clearly how she had just referred to the Potter kid.

"Your... best friend, Hermione?" he spoke, questioningly, almost sounding too hopeful.

She lowered her eyes. She was shivering again. By now Draco knew it meant she was trying to hold back tears. He knew she'd tell him in time, but maybe it wasn't the time right now. So instead of questioning, he swept a strand of hair off her forehead and trailed his fingers down along the contour of her face before suggesting, softly, "Want to get some fresh air?"

She remembered when the last time was when they said those words at this cafe, and forced a tiny smiled as she took the hand he offered her. With a pop they apparated to the castle tower roof, where he sat down with Hermione sitting between his legs, his arms wrapped around her. The night view on the tower was serene, in a different way from the last time they had stood at the very same spot. He tried to be romantic and pointed out the stars for her. It took her a while to loosen up, but it turned out that Hermione was better at recognizing star signs than he was, and Draco ended up making a fool of himself as she chuckled at his mistakes and corrected him.

"That's Gemini, the one below the red star. You connect that to the other one right next to it."

"That one?" Draco pointed at a completely different direction intentionally.

She laughed and took his hand to point it at the star she was describing earlier, "No, that one. That bright one, and then you trace it upwards, like this."

It was intimate, the way they traced the stars holding hands. Hermione didn't even notice that she had momentarily stopped being depressed. It was fun, laughing the way they were. She was still trying to stop laughing when he clasped her hand instead of having her guiding it around. Their fingers entangled with each other's naturally.

"You can be a really good friend you know," she sighed, turning around and smiling at him, "You really lighten up my mood."

He grinned self-consciously, "Really? Never heard that one before tonight."

Draco really wouldn't have called himself a good friend in the past. He had cronies, family friends through his father's connections. Friendship though, that was something quite new to him. He didn't think he'd be good at it.

"Yea, really. Thanks for being so thoughtful," she assured him, "I'm really glad you introduced me to this place."

He could tell that she sincerely enjoyed his company and squeezed her closer to him as she turned back to the stars. He traced her small fingers with his hand, so delicately that it sent tingles up her hand, a ticklish feeling up her arm. Hermione became a little nervous, not knowing what to expect if she turned around to look at him now.

She turned around slowly and their eyes locked. Neither spoke a word. The silence of the night overwhelmed them. All they could hear were the grasshoppers chirping lowly below. Instead of saying anything, they kept their eyes on each other - her brown ones on his silvery grey ones - and the longing gazes slowly grew into stirring ardor. He wanted to touch her, to hold her and kiss her. She longed for his embrace, his lips. It wasn't what they intended when they sat on the roof together, but now.... they slowly leaned closer to each other, their fingers now locked tightly. And then their foreheads touched, their nose nuzzled closer to each other, and a little adjusting to get closer, closer, until his lips brushed against hers. She hesitated fleetingly, but he reached up to the back of her head and pulled her in with a handful of her wavy hair. Draco had no intention of being indecisive now. And when their lips locked, all doubt left her.

Relishing her with incredible sensitivity and assertion, he suckled on her lower lip, gliding his tongue along her lips and pressing to gain entry... He kissed the way he acted around her - gentle and so unyielding. It moved her. It sparked something in her in a way no other man ever had. Shyly she reached up to his face with her free hand and cupped his cheek to hold him close. And then gaining more courage and momentum in their kiss, she closed her eyes and glided her fingers along his ear and up his hairline, running and tangling her fingers in his smooth straight hair as she returned the kiss passionately. By now Draco's mind had been completely taken over by the sensations of her lips and the way she handled his hair roughly yet so tenderly. He wrapped both his arms around her tiny frame, holding her so close to him that they both felt like they might suffocate in their impassioned embrace. They fell to the ground softly. Hermione was now on top of him. Inch by inch he moved his tongue in between her lips, each time getting more urgent than the one before. Finally she sank into his arms and let his tongue in, setting free the soft whimper that she was fighting to shut in. He didn't miss it, and Draco felt a rush of blood to the head with the sound of her lustful moan. He reached up to her neck, stroking it and now kissing her along her cheekbone, up to her tender earlobes and then down her soft and unblemished, waiting-to-be-nibbled, neckline. Hermione gasped in anticipation, running her fingers now down his head along the back of his neck and sliding them along the outline of his well-muscled shoulders. He looked up to face her as she gasped for breath, a small smile playing on his lips. She liked it. She'll never be able to resist that smile.

A drop of water fell on her head from above. At first she thought she had imagined it, but another drop fell on her eyelashes when she looked up. In the short time they were kissing, the sky seemed to have clogged up with a thin blanket of clouds. Now it was drizzling on them. Hermione smiled as she let the rain trickle down her face, it felt nice and cold on her skin. She looked down to smile at the charming young man holding her close in his arms. He smiled too, taking her hand to help her stand up and he sat up too. Words were unnecessary to describe their contentment.

"Let's run bac-," they started at the same time and stopped abruptly to look at each other. Chuckling, they clambered down the tower hand in hand as the rain got worse. Neither of them thought about simply apparating back. The summer rain felt good soaking through their clothes onto their skin.

x x x

"You are such a goof!" she screamed, slapping him playfully in the chest as she tried to wipe the smudge of dirt off her cheek.

He laughed and threw more mud at her, "You started it!" he yelled back.

Indeed she had. As the two ran back to the cafe, Hermione had managed to scoop a fistful of nature's gift and smeared it onto his face. Draco was shocked at first, but now he had the upperhand, having tackled her onto the wet ground. They laughed until their stomachs hurt as they rolled around in the mud like a pair of fools. Well, they were a pair of fools.

"Time out - TIME OUT!" Hermione gasped finally, holding up a 'T' sign with her hands as Draco was about to smudge her face. He was on top of her now as she lay there on the ground, wet and mucky.

He smirked and sat up, kneeling on the ground and holding a hand out, "Truce?"

She looked at his hand briefly and smiled, reaching out.

"Yea."

They laughed again and he pulled her up to her feet, though really she stumbled into his arms - exactly how he wanted her to.

"Merlin, Hermione. This was one of my favourite shirts, you know," he complained exaggeratedly, tugging at his shirt as if he was trying to separate it from him as much as possible while still wearing it.

She giggled, "It can still be your favourite shirt. It'll remind you of me."

He stopped pretending to be disgusted by his shirt and looked up at her, a cute smile on his face. She went a little pink realizing what she had just said.

"I meant -"

"You meant exactly what you said, Hermione," he cut in, reaching out and holding her close to him, "Don't lie to yourself anymore."

It was relieving to have him say that to her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him too. No matter what the future may be, she knew now that she wouldn't want to deny these fluttering feelings in her stomach when she was with him. It felt good, so good that it made her dizzy with pleasure. With another dizzy sensation, Draco had them transported back to his Manor - to his bathroom to be exact.

Hermione was a little surprised to find that they had apparated to his Manor while her eyes were closed briefly. She turned around and stared when Draco began unbuttoning his shirt right in front of her. She quickly averted her eyes and squint them shut when she realized the mirror still showed her everything when she turned away. Draco, noticing the effect his half-nakedness had on her, smirked and pulled off the dirty shirt before he turned the doorknob to leave the room for her private use. Hermione reeled around, realizing he was leaving.

"You go first, Hermione. I'll be waiting," he said with a carefree wave and closed the door behind him.

She stood there for a moment and then chuckled, admitting defeat. He had won this time around. Well, he had won _again_. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how she managed to show all her emotions on her face easily. She pulled off her sweater and dropped it in the laundry basket where Draco had just thrown his shirt.

_Really, why aren't you better at putting on a facade?_

She rubbed a block of mud off her cheek and stared at her own image in the mirror. She had felt satisfied and happy only a moment ago; now her thoughts went back to the letter --- Layla's letter had sounded oddly apologetic, and it raised questions in Hermione's mind.

Harry. At least he was somewhere safe tonight. She would have to go pick him up tomorrow - if she could figure out where Layla lived at all. It wasn't like Hermione hung out with her often. Maybe she can find out at work tomorrow.

Work? Right, how was she going to report tonight's happenings to her boss now? _Hi, Sullivan. Draco Malfoy apparently was having a secret transaction with other Death Eaters. Right, there's enough evidence to arrest him now. But WAIT, they've been threatening him into this all this time. Can't he be pardoned? At least lighten his sentence?_ ...Yea, like Sullivan would care. Who else would other than Draco? She would, if nobody else.

She looked at her own reflection again. The girl in the mirror looked doubtful. Doubtful of what, she asked herself.

Did she really _have_ to go pick Harry up tomorrow? After all, he had apparently been making out with another woman. From the sound of it, he was only physically attracted to her. Was he right that what she had with Draco was more reprehensible? Does it matter who is more in the wrong?_ And why am I not jealous?_

Now the Hermione in the mirror looked weary and guilt-ridden. She leaned against the door, barely noticing that she had smeared some dirt over it as she did so. She sighed heavily as she slid to the floor. She realized it was the second time that night that she had sat on this tiled bathroom floor. Now that the lights were on, she noticed the tiles were of alternating green and white. Green, like the Slytherin colors. It reminded her of the days at Hogwarts, when she lived next door to Draco, and then to the days when she hung out as part of the Gryfinndor Golden Trio. Those were fun days. She sat there, reminiscing, thinking how she hadn't really spent anytime with Ron lately.

Or even Harry. It finally struck her as odd that she hadn't spent much time with Harry in the past few months, even years. Ron had been right all along - it wasn't healthy to stay apart the way they did. For whatever reasons it was, if they loved each other they should have spent more time with each other... should have needed each other more. But they were independent people. That was what she had thought. Now she realized maybe she was just giving herself excuses. Harry was important to her, and so it was natural to want to be with him; but Harry was also just a friend... and that's why she didn't need him by her side all the time. Not all the time. And now he had walked out on their relationship... walked out on her. So was she supposed to feel liberated now? Now that he had left her, she can freely love Draco, right? ...How she wanted to believe in that voice in her head fully.

Draco was beginning to feel a little worried. He heard some movement in there for a while, but he certainly hadn't heard her turn the faucet yet. He knew just how loud that sprinkler was, and it sure wasn't on. He knocked on the door softly.

"Hey, ...'Mione?"

No answer.

Struck by the thought that she might had fallen sick, Draco hastily _alohomora_ed the door and walked right in. At first he was confused to not see anyone in the room, then he quickly looked down and found her curled up on the floor. He took her by the arm.

"What are you doing... you'll catch a cold."

She shook her head, refusing to get up. He spotted that she had been crying again.

"Gosh, Hermione... I leave you for a moment and this again?" he tried to sound light-hearted, but it came out sounding like an accusation.

She choked into more tears, to which Draco responded by heaving her up to her feet and tugging her straight into the shower cubicle. Without listening to her murmured protests, he turned on the shower sprinkler and warm water instantly hit both their bodies. Steam slowly built up as Draco gently pulled her close to him and leaned against the glass wall that was slowly fogging up. She stopped fighting back and let him wipe her face with handfuls of water, washing the mud off. Neither said a word as she let him clean her bit by bit. First her face, and then her hair - which was a difficult mess - and then her shoulders, and her arms... Only then did Hermione start to feel self-conscious and realize she was still clothed under the shower. The navy-blue bra and the jeans she was wearing were completely soaked - so were Draco's trousers. He didn't seem to care though. In fact, he looked sort of happy - scrubbing her arms now with bubbled up soap. It felt funny to be taking a shower together, especially doing so with half their clothes on. Hermione knew she should had been embarrassed, standing quite so immodestly in his presence, but she really didn't care right now. Right now, it felt right to be with him - half-naked, standing under a hot shower and soaping each other. The numbness from thinking about Harry dissipated somewhere... and only she and Draco and the soapsuds remained.

It sounds crazy. But it made sense to her. And it made sense to him too.

Draco turned around to scrub his own hair and let the dirt drain off. The well-defined muscles on his back flexed visibly as he moved around scrubbing himself. Even through the mist she could see his naked back clearly, and she noticed a smudge on his back that he hadn't noticed just yet. She hesitantly reached for the soap dispenser and squeezed out a handful of the liquid. The shower smelled like the same marine ocean scent Draco's cologne had. It must be the soap. Rubbing it between her hands to lather it up, Hermione waited until he had turned away again before she reached out and gently scrubbed his back.

He shuddered at her touch. It was unexpected, and yet so warmly welcomed. Draco had to try all his might not to turn around and just pounce on her. So focused on resisting his urges, he didn't realize it when Hermione stopped rubbing his back and started working on her own hair. He glanced at her and pouted in disappointment inwardly. It had felt good when she was touching him. Only half an hour or so ago he had been kissing her. _Does this mean he can do whatever he wanted now?_

"Draco?"

His ears perked up.

"Yes?"

"Do you uh... mind not looking this way if I took off the rest of this?"

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

"Uh... sure," his reply came out as an ugly croak as he furiously rubbed his arms and his sides with soapsuds.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her reaching behind to unclasp her bra. _Now why on earth did he say that was okay? _Now he didn't dare to take off his clothes in case... in case he revealed how aroused he was by just her request. He hadn't intended this to be a full-on shower - or maybe he had - but he certainly wasn't thinking too much ahead earlier. He just wanted to find a way to stop her from crying again. And they just had a mud fight - they were dirty and gross, therefore it made sense to jump under the shower. Feeling justified, Draco washed the soapsuds off his one side and started working on the other side of his torso. With every dirty thought that came through his head, he tried to drive them out as soon as they came in. He might have kissed her earlier, but that felt natural in the spur of the moment... right now, he was feeling rather uncomfortably aroused.

_Still, it's kind of bold of her to do such a thing as to get completely --_

He got a glimpse of her naked back as he turned to scrub his sides. _Holy Merlin Jeezus!_

He didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that the hot steam was thick enough to not reveal anything lower than what he had seen. He was a little disappointed to have missed it... but then, he had promised not to look. He went back to his diligent scrubbing, until he realized he too needed to take off his trousers and pants if he wanted to get all the dirt off him.

"Uh... 'Mione?" his voice was uncertain.

She raised her eyebrows and glanced at him. _Good, he still had his back turned towards her._

"Yes?"

She also noticed how he called her by a pet name, which was kind of cute. Though with her heart racing the way it was now... she really wasn't thinking very much about how he called her.

"Do you uh... mind if I took off mine too? Uh... I'm almost done."

Take off what.... oh._ Right._ She had been so absorbed with making sure he wasn't looking at her, she forgot that he was still clothed. She nodded shyly, and then realizing he wouldn't be looking at her to see it, she responded with a yes.

Hesitantly at first, but then regaining his ego for a moment, he quickly stripped and threw his trousers and pants into a corner, right where Hermione was standing next to. She gasped softly in surprise and took a glance at him, which caused her regret as she blushed and looked away. She tried to finish showering as soon as possible. The minutes went by slowly until Draco was fairly sure he was clean. He tried to think how to get out of the shower without it being awkward, but before he could make a move or say anything, cold air swept in from behind as the glass door opened and closed.

He turned around, noticing that there was more space in the cubicle now. Through the fogged up glass he could vaguely see Hermione reaching for a towel on one of the top shelves and wrapping it around herself.

"I'm... done," she stammered as she walked to the bathroom door, practically dashing out of it.

Draco just mumbled a reply and went back to checking whether he was completely clean yet. He felt relieved that the strange shower together was finally over, with more than a little bit of disappointment in his unbelievable reserve in the face of a naked woman standing next to him. The woman he was in love with. In a hot shower. The revelation of such a thing being possible shocked him so much that he stood still for quite while under the hot water until he felt his fingers starting to wrinkle up. He turned off the faucet. _God, he was a moron._

Steam rolled out with him as he exited into the bedroom. He looked up as he rubbed his dripping hair with a small towel. All he had was a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. Cutely standing in the corner of his room - looking rather bashful - was Hermione. She had apparently been rummaging through his clothes and found something to throw on - his pajama shirt. She was in the process of looking for some pants it seemed... His shirt was only long enough to cover the very top of her legs. Draco tried not to stare.

"So... um, I realized all my clothes are in the laundry basket in there. And they're.. kind of dirty," she said shyly, fumbling her fingers, "I'm sorry I went through your stuff."

He came out of his stupor a second late.

"Uh, oh. No... It's okay," he quickly walked up to the wardrobe where she was standing at, "You want the pants? You can wear these too." He whipped out a pinstriped green pair of pajama pants that perfectly matched with what she was wearing.

She smiled and thanked him, though she kept her eyes away from him as much as possible. He noticed this and soon figured out that she was averting her stare from his bare chest. A part of him badly wanted to tease her for it. Instead he threw on his bathrobe and pulled on a pair of boxers quickly - she reeled away when she realized that he was about to change. Draco couldn't remember the last time he felt so shy around another woman while being naked. It wasn't like he was ashamed of his body - in fact he was quite confident in his usual Draco Malfoy kind of way. And so he couldn't quite explain the strange discomfort in his own skin around her right now. But when they were both finally clothed and sitting on the bed together, facing each other and rubbing their hair with their respective towels, Draco couldn't help but feel contented. It felt like a happy couple's moment together, rubbing their hair dry after a hot shower, sitting together on the bed. The flirtatious glances at each other. The feeling was unfamiliar to him, but it felt so natural... He knew how it felt now, to be happy with someone. And she smiled, looking just as happy.


	19. Break of dawn

**Chapter Nineteen: Break of dawn

* * *

**

When your heart yearns to connect with someone, it doesn't take very much to make each other happy. As if the darkness of the night was the only time given to them, they shared bedtime stories after bedtime stories, opening up their hearts to each other, talking about their past, their present and their future...

_... I spent most of my time in this mansion until I started at Hogwarts. Father piled up my days with lessons and I was never allowed on the forest grounds. Mother hated to think of the sight of dirt on me. I didn't mind the rules too much I guess... I liked spending my afternoons in the library. My private Potions tutor, now, SHE was a raging old witch –_

_THAT'S how you outdid me in Potions! You Cheat._

_Oh please, Hermione Granger, don't tell me you didn't do all the readings before school started._

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned. ...

_...__ But then mum showed me a drawing I did when I was younger, when great grandma was still around. And I knew then, that the invitation letter from Hogwarts was real._

_Your great grandmother? _He rolled around to her in curiosity, and she nodded and continued.

_She used to tell me stories from her time. And I made paintings to her stories, paintings of the Land of Magic somewhere beyond London, where people owned owls for pets, where stores sold flying broomsticks and books that would grow legs and leave you if you ignore them for too long. She painted a story so colorful, so detailed, more realistic than any fairytale she had told me... and I believed it. I wished for it. But I'd forgotten it for so long... until I saw the drawings again. That's when I suspected –_

_She was a witch_.

He finished her sentence and she smiled. ...

... _I respected him like a son would his father, but I feared him and loathed him at the same time. I hated him for choosing the life he chose, for dragging mother and me into it with him. Even then I convinced myself that it was the only way to live as a Malfoy... So when he said to me that night, that night before he left for the last time, that despite all his priorities till then mother and I were what mattered to him the most... I panicked, Hermione. I had a new fear –_

His voice trailed off as he squeezed her hand; and without saying a word, she squeezed back. ...

x x x

"I'll be fine, Layla."

It was just another foggy English morning, almost dawn. The sun was barely up yet.

"I feel like taking a walk home. It'll be refreshing for me," Harry continued with a smile, the first one Layla had seen since the night before.

She nodded, though her concern for his physical condition still remained. The night before he had arrived at her flat, quite ill from all the drinking. The sobering potion removed the alcohol, but his headaches and nausea needed a separate cure.

"You're a fool, Harry. Drinking this much..." Layla had said discouragingly as she heaved him into her sister's still intact bedroom, "I'm surprised we didn't have to take you to St. Mungo's."

He coughed and gagged then, but he had already thrown up so much earlier, nothing came up. Layla found him a cure for upset stomaches and fed him a spoonful. Harry knew the potion the moment he tasted it, and he dreaded the coming discomfort that would cure the hangover surely... but slowly and painfully. He had wished Hermione were there, feeding him her staple hangover cure that would fix all his alcohol-related illness without a pain. Many times she had urged him not to drink so heavily, but he couldn't quit. Her easy cure certainly didn't make him want to stop drinking sooner. His job depressed him, drinking with friends was his escape.

He remembered how Layla sat down to write a letter to his wife, to tell her Harry was fine. She started and then hesitated, turning to him. He could tell that she knew some part of tonight's events were her fault.

"Are you sure it's okay that you're here with me?" she had asked.

Harry was breathing heavily from the pain then. The potion was working, forming temporarily uncomfortable bubbles in his stomach.

"I... haven't told her it was you."

Guilt cast a shadow on Layla's face, and Harry, despite his physical pain, hadn't missed it.

"It's not your fault... Layla... ugh," his face scrunched up in discomfort as he tried to sit up. The potion had done its job, but his chest still hurt. Harry wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the alcohol.

"If anything," he continued, "you made me realize that there wasn't a way to remedy my marriage anymore."

Layla hushed him, half convincing herself that things were fine, "You'll think differently in the morning, Harry."

Harry only shook his head, lying down compliantly when she pressed him back onto the bed and tucked him in. He didn't believe her, but for that moment, it was comforting. And for that moment he only cared about the moment then. Thinking about tomorrow hurt.

And tomorrow arrived with the dim morning sunshine through thick English fog. Presently they stood outside Layla's door, bidding each other goodbye and saying see-you-later-at-work. Layla didn't know whether Harry had changed his mind; but he had decided to go home to Hermione. That was a start. Harry, on the other hand, was thinking how the alcohol was a disaster, and the only real comfort came from Layla's company. She was right - he was a fool.

"Thank you, Layla... You were an awesome friend last night."

She smiled, "You're more like a brother to me, Harry."

And he agreed. A comrade, a friend, a sister. A sister he never had. Whatever crazy feelings he thought he had for her the night before, the agonizing temptation he felt briefly that moment standing before her, he sealed away. She was young, she was fun, she was dreamy and she had alluring beryl-green eyes. But she was Layla - his unofficially adopted sister, his official work partner, and a friend. A friend he'll never want to lose.

He waved her goodbye and went on his way. Layla waved back and stood there briefly at her door, silently wishing him good luck. Hermione wasn't someone who could hurt Harry. Whatever shape her love was for him, she loved him. She'd never hurt him. If anything, Layla knew that much.

x x x

It felt warm. She can feel light through her closed eyelids.

Hermione stirred when the sun hit her eyes; the early morning fog had already dissipated. She rolled around lazily and noticed her fingers were still intertwined with Draco's amidst the bed sheets. She stroked his fingers gently. Bits and pieces of the stories and conversations they shared the night before flickered through her mind as she adjusted to the warm sunlight.

_You're as much of a bookworm as I am, Draco._

It was so cozy; her body seemed to be glued to the fluffy bed. She didn't want to get up.

_Does that make your mum a squib? _

_Muggle-born, squib, pureblood... do they really mean anything?_

Through her half-opened eyelids, she can see him sleeping peacefully with a strand of golden hair on his forehead. His words from last night came to her mind again.

_I thought then... maybe I've chosen all wrong._

She saw clearly now - his long eyelashes, his pale complexion from the lack of sun exposure --

_You can choose differently now._

-- His thin lips slightly parted, and his hair, still damp from lying down right after a shower. Through the loosely-tied bathrobe she can see his bare chest, subtly heaving to the rhythm of his breathing.

_But I can't undo what I've done._

Neither can I, Draco.

And the way he spoke last night.

_Stay with me, Hermione._

She shuddered remembering his voice, his voice with such persuasion and concealed desperation... intoxicating. He looked like such a different person now when he lay there, peaceful like a baby. A Draco she never knew before. She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand a little tighter, savoring their moment together that seemed to fade slowly with the morning sun.

He stirred; she must have woken him. Hermione tried to pretend to be asleep. He shifted again, moving the bed sheets with him as he moved closer to her and squeezed her hand.

"...You're awake, Hermione," he whispered. It wasn't a question, more of a knowing statement. She can hear the smile in his voice. And then she gasped silently, for he had planted a kiss on her forehead. It was child-like and innocent; one that lingered sweetly even as she opened her eyes to look up into his.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, hovering above her with a smile curling up one corner of his lips.

"Good morning..." she greeting him back shyly, to which he grinned and hopped off his bed to the bathroom for a wash.

_How does he manage to look so perfect just after getting up? _It was a mystery she couldn't solve. Hermione sighed with satisfaction. The bed was warm and comfortable and she could still smell Draco's scent on the pillow - or maybe it was just her since she used his soap and shampoo last night.

Now she could hear running water and Draco brushing his teeth. Hermione smiled. Such simple sounds, and yet it was gratifying just to know he was in the room next door, doing simple daily things like cleaning himself in the morning. Hermione sat up and wrapped the bed sheets around her as she crawled over to the window side. The sky still had a yellowish tint mixed with the morning blue of dawn. She could see the forest grounds Draco told her about in one of their many conversations last night before they both fell asleep. It was a deep and mysterious forest, one that stirred curiosity and fear at the same time, similar to but smaller than Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest. The trees swept side to side in the wind and the bedroom window rattled. It seemed like it would be a breezy day.

Her thoughts were lost among the wavering birch trees when Draco came back into the bedroom. Wiping his mouth he watched her; that frown had crept back onto her forehead just a little. Draco stood there and watched her for a little longer. He knew he could choose to dismiss the sight before him for now, take her hand and... and suggest that they take flight. To forget her marriage to Potter and come with him instead. He knew he could choose so, but he couldn't dismiss her life up until this moment. Draco sighed quietly and went up to the woman he loved. She looked up to meet his eye. He looked determined; he had something he wanted to say.

"Draco?"

He still watched her silently. J_ust a little longer,_ he said to himself. And then he spoke, softly but with resolve.

"I'll take you back."

Her eyes widened.

"You're worried about him, no?"

She stared at him. _Just a little more_, she thought to herself. And then she nodded, sadly, and yet gratefully. It broke his heart. But at least this time, he's letting her go after thinking it through on his own.

x x x

"Here's fine, Draco. It's unsafe for us to be seen together..."

Draco knew it well too, though it didn't stop them from squeezing each other's hand affectionately and stare at each other for a moment longer. Neither were sure when they'd see each other again. Neither could bring it up right now. Draco felt like there was a lump stuck in his throat as he let go of her hand. He didn't want to let go. Her eyes wandered on his face for a while, and then she finally made up her mind to look away. She stepped away from him and looked around the pavement outside the park anxiously. There was silence on the streets. It was still early.

Hermione began to walk towards her building. A gust of wind blew suddenly and she stopped in her tracks. Draco instinctively looked up; as a Death Eater he was trained to keep his eye on the sky. A flurry of spinning black smoke flew towards Hermione, charging at her with full intent to murder. Draco pulled out his wand quickly.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The attacker fell to the ground though he quickly picked up his wand again. There was no doubt that he was a Death Eater. Hermione pulled her wand out too, ready to strike. Draco ran out to her at once, standing before Hermione and fending for her. Standing and facing each other, neither side moved as they tried to figure each other out. Until the other wizard spoke.

"I see where your true alliance lies, Malfoy."

No wands would be lowered, for it was exactly who Draco thought it would be. The man revealed himself from under the hood.

"Parkinson."

There was no surprise in Draco's voice, though Hermione gasped.

"She's a spy, Malfoy," Parkinson hissed with mockery, momentarily pointing his wand at Hermione, who Draco was shielding with his cloak, "She has you fooled."

Untroubled, Draco kept his eyes on Parkinson's face, "You're quite the spy yourself, Parkinson. Haven't you been colluding with the Ministry... against your favorite Dark Lord's will?"

The corner of Parkinson's lips twitched at the mentioning of his master's name.

Draco didn't stop there, revealing how much he knew of Parkinson's conspiracy, "What is the deal, Parkinson? An exchange for Pansy's release... by booting me into Azkaban, perhaps? Quite convenient for you, isn't it. You've hated my father for a long time, for constantly blocking your campaign to gain the Dark Lord's faith in your... abilities. I might even say that you intended on doing Aunt Bella in as well. I assume you never liked her either --"

"I _hated_ her, Malfoy. _I HATE HER_."

Draco reached for Hermione's hand and she squeezed back. There was something abnormal about the flicker in Parkinson's eye that disturbed even Draco, who never feared Parkinson before.

"What did you expect me to do?" the elder Death Eater's voice cracked with rage, "Believe the old hag of a witch that she'd actually try to save my little girl?"

Draco said nothing. He had a point.

"_We'll figure something out, deary_, she said," he spat sarcastically, "She promised to talk to the Dark Lord about it, and then she goes to Him... and what does she do? Drool over _Him,_ and do whatever _He_ asks _her_ to do! When have our requests ever been answered? When has He ever done anything of value _for us_? Who's going to fend for Pansy?"

Draco couldn't say he liked the man, but he could sympathize. Voldemort had governed with fear, twisting their spirits until they could do nothing but succumb to him. Draco had felt Parkinson's pain personally time and again. He allowed the man to rant, though he never lowered his wand.

And continue to rant he did. In fact, Parkinson was quite beyond himself.

"So when Sullivan called for me and offered me a deal, I took it... _I took it__! _I'd do anything to stop them from throwing my only daughter into Azkaban, even betray my Lord... _I would!_ But I was worried... worried that Sullivan would eat his words. You can't trust anyone these days."

He paced around back and forth as he raved, though he didn't completely lose track and so kept his wand pointed at the younger witch and wizard. They watched him uneasily. It was clear now why Parkinson went as far as to go behind Voldemort's back and spy for the Ministry. What wasn't clear, was why he tried to attack Hermione right now. But that became clear soon enough.

"And then..." Parkinson breathed, now stopping to stare straight at Hermione. She took a step back uncomfortably.

"I learned about her... Hermione ex-Granger, Potter's wife... You," he pointed at her with his wand. Draco raised his cloak a little higher.

"She's my bargaining chip," Parkinson said, now his voice reduced to a whisper, "The one that would give the Ministry no choice but to set my daughter free..."

"And break your heart, Drakie."

The three reeled around to the owner of the new voice. Bellatrix LeStrange, wand arm extended as she walked up to them from behind Parkinson, wand pointing straight at Hermione. Parkinson cowered before the cold calculating witch, but all she did was cast him a meaningful look of I'll-deal-with-you-later. He might be a spy for the Ministry, but he had ended being useful as a double spy. For now, Bellatrix's focus was on the young couple.

"Hand her over, dear nephew," Bellatrix demanded with a lazy flick of her wand, "You know she's a spy now, there's no point acting the part of a lover anymore. The Dark Lord would love to take the mudblood. Dead... or alive."

Bellatrix nastily took her time to say the last three words, forming each syllable distinctly. But Draco didn't move, and only squeezed Hermione's hand tighter.

Eyebrow raised, Bellatrix's cold firm lips turned into a deranged smile. She slowly paced towards her nephew and clicked her tongue meaningfully before speaking, "You've changed sides, young boy? Blinded by _feelings_, I suppose?"

"I lied," Draco hissed, now fully shielding Hermione as Bellatrix moved closer.

"I should have known," Bellatrix responded monotonously, now shifting her wand to point at Draco's face. It didn't seem to matter to her that she was now pointing her wand at her nephew.

Draco expected that much from her and didn't flinch a muscle, but Hermione wasn't going to let him keep her shielded. She moved in front of Draco, pointing her wand in Bellatrix's face.

"I'm what you want. Leave Draco out of this," her voice trembled, but she didn't move when Draco tried to persuade her to stay down.

Now Bellatrix was really amused, "A _mudblood, _working for the Ministry, and defending a _Death Eater_? Now that's news for me."

Wands raised. Nobody moved. Silence. And then ---

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Stupefy!"_

The first spell came from outside the circle of hostile wizards, but it didn't stop either side from shouting at the top of their voices the moment spells were thrown out into the open. Among the flurry of red and green jets of light, Hermione realized that a young blonde girl had moved up against her side in their defense.

"Layla!"

"Hermione... are you alright?" Layla asked without taking her eyes off the enemy. Hermione noticed the bleeding gashes on the girl's cheek.

"Layla, that wound," and then a fearful thought came to her, "Harry... what happened to Harry?"

Above all the yelling they could hear cackles of glee - there was nothing more that thrilled Bellatrix LeStrange than a good battle. Layla cursed out loud as Bellatrix's hex nearly hit her square in the chest.

_"Stupefy!" _Draco shouted. Bellatrix narrowly escaped, now dueling her nephew one-on-one.

Layla yelled back a response to Hermione, "I gave him some basic treatments, but he's still hurt -- _Confringo!_"

The spell hit its target this time and Mr. Parkinson burst into flames. The burning Death Eater fell to the ground, screaming in agony. Bellatrix, realizing now that she was quite alone, began shooting multiple hexes at them. She was serious now.

A particularly strong hex hit Layla in her wand arm and sent her flying across the street.

"Layla!" Hermione screamed.

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_"PROTEGO!"  
"PROTEGO!!"_

It wasn't clear who said the shield charm first, but when the unforgivable curse rebounded and hit the mad witch, both Draco and Hermione had their wands pointed straight at where Bellatrix had stood, panting for breath in the sudden silence. The dead witch lay on the ground, motionless. The adrenaline rose to their heads. All they could hear was the sound of their hearts beating against their chests, and Parkinson's pathetic moans as he attempted to sooth his burns. He tried to crawl towards his wand, but Layla quickly kicked it out of his grasp and restrained the heavily injured Death Eater with a rope.

"You," Layla said as she tossed her long messy hair back and wiped the blood off her nose on her shoulder, "Will be coming with me to St. Mungo's under custody."

The near-fainting Parkinson wondered somewhere in his head how the young witch could tie him up with one arm, especially when her wand arm was crippled by Bellatrix's infamous disarmament curse. Draco and Hermione came to themselves with Layla's voice.

"I killed her," Draco said softly as the magnitude of what just happened finally dawned on him, "I killed my aunt..."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, "I'm sorry, Draco... it couldn't be helped..."

He nodded, though the frown didn't leave his face. Hermione held him and he wrapped his arms around her. For now, the battle was over.

Layla quietly left them alone for a moment as she cast some simple healing charms on Parkinson to ease his pain. The middle-aged Death Eater wasn't going anywhere. She made sure that Parkinson was properly tied before she went up to Hermione and Draco.

"I hate to break you guys up right now, but... Hermione."

Layla didn't need to say further. Harry was heavily injured, they should go.

Hermione took Draco's hand to have him come with her. Now that he had helped them, she didn't think anyone would doubt his position. But Draco didn't move.

"Draco?"

He pursed his lips and then shook his head.

"I can't. I have a place to go too."

Layla didn't understand, but Hermione did. With Parkinson arrested and Bellatrix dead, it wouldn't take time for the Dark Lord to catch on. There was someone else in danger, someone dear to Draco.

"Your mother..."

He nodded.

"I'm sorry I can't be there for you right now," he squeezed her hand apologetically.

She squeezed back, more worried about him than herself.

"Be careful..."

He smiled softly and leaned in to kiss her on her cheek, "I'll be fine, don't worry... I'll write you as soon as I can."

He bowed at Layla, who nodded back in acknowledgement. And then he disapparated.


	20. Saint Mungo's

**Chapter Twenty: Saint Mungo's

* * *

**

Healer Morhorn never quite liked Ministry men, especially when they'd think they had leverage wherever they went. Without a question, Sullivan was one of those that he found intolerable.

"Listen, old man," Sullivan barely concealed his contempt, "_All_ I'm asking is that we arrange transportation for her to the Ministry. We need this critical memory from her to bust Malf... an important suspect - Anyway! She wouldn't even need to get off her bed, so if you'd go ahead now and unlock her door-- "

"Do you have _any_ idea how much blood she's lost so far?" The elder Healer cut him off and tapped at Hermione's medical record on his clipboard for Sullivan to see, "She just had a blood transfusion. She _cannot_ leave here right now. I won't allow it."

"Yes, all because of your eccentric muggle practices!" Sullivan was incredulous, "I heard you went out of your way to bring in muggle equipment, Healer... I can charge you!"

"Go ahead," Morhorn threatened, "Go ahead and sue me, Mr. Sullivan. Dear Madeline from medical supplies - Merlin bless her - she can prove that we ran out of dragon's blood since last night's arson case, all because _you_ failed to intercept a mass murder attempt -- _again!_ My poor staff hasn't had an inkling of sleep and none of them are complaining. And here you blame me when you almost failed to prevent a murder attempt _on your own staff_ just this morning. Yes, go ahead and charge me for daring to take unusual measures to save lives! I'm sure that'd be a _wonderful _argument in front of the jury."

Overcome by anger, Sullivan's lips quivered as he tried to respond, "You-- You--!"

"Yes, Mr. Sullivan. This is Saint Mungo's, not your comfortable seat at the Ministry where you can order people around as you please," Morhorn spat coldly, ruffling his beard, "A no is a no."

"She is _my_ subordinate! I have the right to-- "

"And she is _my_ patient," the Healer said with finality, "While she is under this roof, _I_ am her supervisor. And as her supervisor, _I_ say she stays. And NO--" he stopped Sullivan's attempt to interrupt, "That's _it_. You can schedule an appointment to meet with her tomorrow afternoon. If she feels strong enough she can leave as she pleases. But not right now. Good day, Mr. Sullivan."

With that he flung his white cloak behind him and slammed his office door in the angry man's face. Blocking out Sullivan's dirty mouth with a silencing spell Healer Morhorn walked to the door of his inner patient's room. Strange, he could hear a conversation inside. As far as he knew, the male Potter was still unconscious. Besides, the other voice was most certainly female. Healer Morhorn couldn't remember having allowed a visitor for Hermione in there.

He knocked; the conversation didn't stop. Morhorn opened the door anyway.

"So you have no idea how Parkinson found Harry," Hermione was reconfirming what Layla had just said to her.

"No," Layla answered, cradling her still recovering wand arm, "As I said it was quite by chance that I decided to check up on you guys... I guess I was still worried about Harry's health when I went grocery shopping... I heard awfully loud banging from outside your building when I walked pass. Before I knew what was happening I was dueling that bastard outside your flat. Harry was unconscious by then."

It was very puzzling. Layla suggested that Draco had somehow let slip, yet Hermione hadn't even mentioned her address to him. This morning was the first time she'd taken Draco to her neighborhood. Could his owl have been intercepted in the past? Her place with Harry was only known to a handful of people, and it was heavily guarded with a protective charm. They could receive owls, but the spell had that covered too. It was inconceivable how Parkinson discovered their home.

Morhorn coughed intentionally. The two young women looked up to notice his presence for the first time. Layla in particular looked guilty for she was caught in the act.

"Very intriguing conversation," Morhorn commented nonchalantly as he walked up to Hermione's bed and checked her pulse with a light tap of his wand on her inner wrist, "Hmm, still weak but better."

"I do suggest that you rest though, both of you," he then said, giving Layla a look, "I can't guarantee your quick recovery if you keep escaping from your room and disturbing other patients' rest, Layla."

"I'm feeling much better, Healer Morhorn," Hermione quickly said, saving Layla an explanation. She put a reassuring hand on his arm, but then became a little overwhelmed when she thought of what he had done for them, "Thank you... for saving Harry."

He smiled at her warmly, handing her his handkerchief to wipe her tears. "Thank _you_ for offering your blood. I appreciate your faith in my abilities. There aren't many muggle-borns around here, and most people are... scared of muggle technology."

Hermione smiled, "And yet you were willing to risk your reputation for us," she turned to Harry, who was still unconscious but stable, lying in the bed next to hers, "It's very admirable of you, Healer."

Morhorn chuckled, "My reputation? Honestly, Professor, you must know what people call me behind my back."

The Dockter, a misspelling of the muggle term 'doctor', or the worse nickname - Healer Moron... yes, she'd heard them. Despite acknowledging his fantastic record as a Healer, most people could hardly fathom why Morhorn cared to learn from his muggle equivalents.

"I'm sure they'll understand one day what great things you're doing," Hermione encouraged, "There's much to learn from muggles that we've ignored for decades."

Morhorn smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Thank you, Professor... You're very kind. I wish everyone thinks like you do."

"Call me Hermione," Hermione reminded him. She'd asked him to do so many times before. Morhorn just chuckled and nodded. He still preferred calling her the old way.

Layla, who was starting to feel a little left out, asked Morhorn curiously, "Why do you call Hermione 'Professor'?"

Morhorn's eye twinkled again. He liked telling this story. Hermione thought how he looked like a rounder version of Professor Dumbledore sometimes.

"Well, Professor... _Hermione_, I meant," he corrected himself when Hermione pretended to be mad, "She taught my son History at Hogwarts. I was happy to hear that Henry - that's my son - fell in love with the subject because of her," and then he confessed embarrassedly, "Well - I'm quite an avid history fan myself. Personally I'm of the opinion that Henry simply had a crush on the professor."

He winked at them. Layla smiled and Hermione blushed. They had a light cheerful conversation for a while, until Hermione changed the topic to something more immediate.

"How long would it take for Harry to wake up again... Healer?"

The Healer's shining eyes clouded. He sighed as he looked down at his clipboard, flipping through the pages for Harry's medical report.

"I'm afraid I can't say right now," he confessed after a moment of thought, "There's been some serious damage to his head - a concussion - a couple broken ribs, damage to his spine and a few other bone fractures in his legs. His physical injuries will take two months to recover fully. As for the effects of the concussion... we can't make any conclusions until he wakes up."

An air of doubt and gloom filled the suddenly quiet room. Layla cradled her arm and sniffed a little. Hermione stared blankly in Harry's direction, hundreds of different future scenarios running through her mind.

"Ms. Moreau, I must insist that you go back to lie down in your room... without trying to break your door lock this time."

Both women made note that Healer Morhorn had called Layla by her last name. Despite his yet cheerful tone, he had switched back to his official position. He must have remembered that he shouldn't be engaging the two in light conversation right now. Layla grumbled as she got off her feet.

"I know you've had worse injuries, Layla," Morhorn spoke her thoughts and smiled, "You're lucky your arm will only take a couple weeks to recover."

Layla nodded, for she agreed wholeheartedly. She remembered the terrifying moment when she felt Bellatrix's curse hit her arm and sent her into the air by the force of the attack. She had had those moments many times before fighting Death Eaters – moments when she believed she would face sure death.

Lucky. That she hoped she would continue to be.

When Layla opened the door, she found herself staring at a guy's chest with his knuckles an inch from her face. She looked up to see a familiar redhead. Ron looked just as startled as she was, for he nearly knocked on Layla's nose instead of the door.

"Hey... is uh, Hermione here?" Ron asked, looking rather anxious, "I was told I can find her and Harry in here."

Layla moved aside for Ron to see inside the room. He saw Hermione, who had been looking in the direction of the door since she'd heard his voice. Healer Morhorn was at Harry's bedside adjusting something.

"Hope the Healer'd let you stay, Ronny," Layla said rather sarcastically as she left, "I'm exiled to my room."

Morhorn rolled his eyes at Layla's comment and gave Ron a pat on the shoulder as he too left the room into his office, "You can have 20 minutes, Mr. Weasley. I know you're good friends to these two."

Ron nodded and stepped into the room hesitantly, casting an awkward glance at Hermione. She returned the stare just as uncomfortably and then looked away, indicating him to the stool next to her bed with a silent gesture. She almost wished Healer Morhorn had refused Ron's visit. The look on Ron's face suggested this could be a conversation neither of them wanted to engage in.

x x x

As Layla headed back to her room obediently (while ignoring dirty glances from the nurses who knew her escaping habits), she spotted Sullivan talking to one of the more experienced Aurors that Layla was not well associated with. Normally she would avoid them, as she never liked Sullivan, but something suspicious about their hushed conversation led her to sneak closer and listen in.

"I can't find her either, that French girl," Sullivan said, "Probably roaming about the hospital again. She's hiding something too. Both of them."

_French girl._ Layla didn't know that was how they referred to her in her absence. Apparently they had been searching for her. It was a good thing she had slipped out of their sight. Something told her that they weren't up to any good. _Both of them._ They probably meant Hermione and her. When Layla and Hermione found Sullivan earlier and asked him what he knew of the security breach, he had diverted the conversation to Draco Malfoy. He seemed more interested in arresting the young Death Eater than the safety of his staff, and it upset Hermione at many levels. She refused to speak to him when he tried to stop her from donating her blood because he needed to extract her memory right away. Healer Morhorn wasn't so blind as to not notice the tension. He had sheltered her from Sullivan for her sake.

"We'll get an official warrant by tomorrow afternoon, don't worry," the Auror reassured Sullivan, "I'm looking forward to sending that pig's son into Azkaban soon."

"Now that we have Parkinson here, and LeStrange dead... and the other one we caught spying in the Ministry last month..." Sullivan bent his fingers one by one, counting the Death Eaters they'd have removed, "That'll be four out of seven. We're getting good at this."

Seven. They had to be referring to the seven Death Eaters that formed the Dark Alliance, the Dark Lord's most trusted subordinates.

"What I don't get is your spy," the Auror said in puzzlement, "that House elf nerd of yours - what she said when she first came in here this morning... What's this deal about Malfoy helping them fight LeStrange?"

So at least _someone_ was listening to Hermione's plea.

Sullivan dismissed it as quickly as he had Hermione earlier that morning, "It's nonsense, Jamerson. Probably just went out of her mind when she saw her crippled husband at the scene."

"Well, I'd understand..." Auror Jamerson sympathized, "You'd go crazy if you saw it yourself." He remembered the sea of blood he had seen that morning outside the Potter's flat, "It was really quite horrific."

"Well, I have no use for useless subordinates. Every one of them. Both Potters, even Colin! So you know what happened to him? His wife called me last night-- "

Layla clenched her fist, momentarily blocking out Sullivan's rant. He didn't care; he really didn't care whether Harry can get back up and move like a normal man again. And Sullivan would be after Hermione now, to arrest Draco. As Hermione had expected, Sullivan had no interest in listening to what she had to say. Layla had to warn Hermione.

"How about Parkinson?" Jamerson asked, calming Sullivan down, "I hear he's recovering well, and Healer Morhorn's not in charge of him."

Of course, the bad guys always get better before the good ones come to.

"What, you mean getting a testimony from him?" Sullivan asked, sounding incredulous.

"What's wrong with that? He's a witness too."

Sullivan looked troubled. Layla was about to leave but she decided to stay and listen to this.

"Well, I guess... it could be... useful. Though I'm worried. Well - see," Sullivan stammered, and then he lowered his volume. Layla had to sneak closer to listen.

"I'm hesitant of bringing him to court... because... he's the reason for our security leak," Sullivan whispered.

Layla nearly gasped out loud.

"You mean - You mean _the Potters' hideout?_" Jamerson forgot to keep his volume down. Sullivan shushed the elder Auror quickly.

"Keep it down, will you!"

"That's preposterous! Who leaked such information?"

"_Shush!!_" Sullivan noticed that a young male nurse was jogging towards them, "Anyway that's why I need the female Potter's memory as soon as possible-- WHAT IS IT NOW?"

"Mr.... Mr. Sullivan!" the nurse wheezed, his face pale with fear. Layla noticed icicles melting in his hair.

"Yes, yes. Speak up," Sullivan uttered impatiently; he recognized the nurse from the burn center. He was one of those in charge of taking care of Parkinson.

"It's - it's the Devil, sir! Death Eater, your -- Mr. Parkinson! Ice and -- Lots of ice and, screaming and - It's terrifying the other patients, you have to – You have to come right now. Please!"

The two Ministry men looked at each other and then ran for the detainee's room. Layla apparated ahead of them, landing outside the burn center to horrified screams and angry shouts from within. She was swiftly stopped by Ministry security at the door, "Young lady, stay back!"

"I'm an Auror!" she demanded, "Let me through!" She threw her identification in their faces and pushed her way through, wand out of her pocket. She inhaled the unnaturally chilled air and stopped in the middle of the room. What she saw froze her in her steps.

_"HE'S BEWITCHED!"_

_"IT'S HIM, IT'S YOU-KNOW-WHO!"_

Chaos. Walls covered in ice, tapering icicles suspended from the ceiling, patients and medical staff pressed against the floor, desperately crawling away from the inner room. And through the wide open door, Layla can see Patrick Parkinson, flaying about on his bed as if he were hanging from puppet strings. His boney scalded figure looked much like that of a ghost. Though naturally a thin man, Layla couldn't remember him looking so fragile when she fought him that morning. There was no one else in that room, and yet Parkinson was screaming at the wall before him as if there was.

Between indecipherable screams and violent convulsions, Parkinson was desperately pleading, "MY LORD! FORGIVE ME -- _AHHHH!_ No, NO! My-- My Lord, please! I was just-- just trying to save my little girl!"

"What _the heck _is going on here?"

Layla spun around to face her superior and Auror Jamerson, whose eyes were wide in shock. Sullivan turned to look at her.

"And there you are! You better explain this!"

She scorned, "I just came like you, sir."

Alarmed by the screams, dozens of Aurors filed into the burn center, while behind them the young nurse that informed Sullivan earlier cried out from within the arms of guards restraining him at the exit, "It's _Him_! It's You-Know-Who!"

At the mentioning of He-who-must-not-be-named, Sullivan's eyes flared and he swiftly commanded his men.

"Search the perimeter! He must be nearby to control him so well! Catch him!!"

They scrambled at his command, Jamerson in the lead. A few stayed behind and cast aggressive spells that merely dissipated as they entered the icy room. Some tried to melt the ice, for the temperature was becoming unbearably cold. Sullivan shivered and watched all this with his fingernails in between his teeth. His witness was being tortured, and yet he had no idea how to save him. Layla stood aside, cradling her arm. She didn't let her guard down, in case the attack turned towards the innocent around her, but she certainly didn't feel the urge to save the scum who tried to kill her friends. Besides, she had no idea how she would even if she cared. The enemy was obviously not in the room. Layla had never had to face Lord Voldemort himself. His power was so overwhelming; it took her a moment to realize that she was, in fact, scared. Scared, and that was why she couldn't move. Now that she had learned about the story of Draco's life from Hermione, Layla couldn't help but shudder. How on Earth had Draco Malfoy been dealing with this black wizard on a regular basis? For a moment there, she almost sympathized for Parkinson.

In the room, Parkinson thought he heard Sullivan bellowing his orders through fading consciousness. A small glimmer of hope rose in his heart, but was quickly extinguished when he heard the voice in his head again.

_You think they can save you, Patrick? From me?_

He shook his head. Or at least he thought he did - he was too weak to have done so.

The voice chuckled in his head._ So you admit you're one of them now. I'm very intrigued._

"That's not... that's not true, My Lord... I can... can explain..." his voice reduced to a whisper, shivering in the cold and fear.

_But I don't understand, Patrick. Why are you here then?_

"Malfo-- Malfoy, My Lord... I was... was trying to unveil his treachery.. I'm your servant, my Lord... I'll never, betray..."

_You haven't answered my question, Patrick._

The answering voice was angry, a chilled anger that clamped Parkinson's lips shut. And the voice continued.

_I don't see Draco here. Yet I see you, pampered like a baby. Why is that?_

Parkinson couldn't answer.

_Why is it?_

"Parkinson!" someone shouted from outside.

Parkinson turned to the door slowly, a blurred figure stood at the door, seemingly restrained by others. He can somewhat recognize the Ministry uniform. Sullivan, maybe? It sounded like him. He hoped it was him. Parkinson tried to reach towards the door. His arm was so weak, he could barely raise a finger.

_You disappoint me, Patrick._

He croaked feebly, "Save... me..."

His throat clenched tight. His fingers stretched out in agony.

_Do you fear me, Patrick?_

"Y---ye-s---YES!"

_I'm glad._

His throat relaxed. He gasped for breath. For a moment, everyone thought he was saved, but then his eyes bulged and his hand clutched at his chest. A whirlwind appeared in the room, and Parkinson wailed with the last of his breath, "_MY LORD!_"

The room shook violently and everyone fell to the floor. Cabinets collapsed and glassware smashed all over the place. Parkinson crumbled to his bed and turned into dust. The ice on the walls disappeared, the air became warm again, and the bed was empty. Empty, as if nothing was ever on it. There was no sign that the Dark Lord had been there, except the broken glass from the cabinets and the fear planted in people's hearts.

x x x

Back in Harry and Hermione's room, Ron was still feeling rather uncomfortable.

"I heard you've been working for the Ministry," he tugged at the tie around his neck uneasily as he said so. Nothing was choking him, except maybe his childhood friend's silence. His eyes wandered to the strange muggle instruments in the room, like the IV drip. He had heard from the nurses that Harry had received a blood transfusion from Hermione... the idea made him sick, but at least Harry looked stable and Hermione seemed weak but fine. Whatever it was, it seemed to have worked out.

Hermione slowly turned towards him, but didn't look at him in the eye, "I'm sorry I haven't told you... many things," she apologized, her eyes on the floor.

She looked ashamed. Ron had never seen her like this when he criticized her, though this time he had done so gently. He cared for her health after all.

It was the most she'd said to him so far during this visit. Even now, her lips were pursed shut again, and her eyes focused somewhere on the wall across the room. She lay there quietly, between bleached bed sheets, as if she'd never spoken. They went back to not talking. Background noises suddenly seemed louder. The murmurs from a hushed conversation in the corridor outside. The buzzing of the half-broken light above. The beeping of--

She broke the silence first this time.

"I know what you want to say, Ron. But I..." she paused, and spoke again hesitantly, "I need to think on my own."

Ron clenched his fists, understanding and yet hardly able to contain his frustration. For many years he had tried to convince his married best friends to live together, and now that they had finally listened to him... things seemed to fall apart uncontrollably. He thought if Hermione were taking a sabbatical from Hogwarts, she'd be able to spend more time with Harry, and maybe even with him, like the old days. Instead, Harry seemed to spend more and more time at the bar, and Hermione had been apparently doing... Merline knows what.

Hermione felt bad about how she was treating Ron, but she was in no state to go through their usual argument right now. _Stay at Harry's side, Hermione._ _Please understand, Ron._ They'd had this conversation at least a dozen times, but now things were a little different. Hermione had no idea how much Ron knew about her past month's endeavor. Her relationship with Draco, her broken marriage with Harry... She didn't know if she could explain it all to him without setting fire to the Weasley temper. She sighed, delaying the issue and instead turning to look at her unconscious husband.

_Wake up,_ she said silently. He of course didn't move.

_Wake up, Harry. You came home to talk to me, didn't you? There's so much to talk about... I came home too. I was so close. I was too late..._

"Oh bloody hell, Hermione," Ron muttered, reaching for his handkerchief for her, "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head, wiping the tears off with her sleeve, "It's not your fault. I just... I just wish I was there in time to prevent this."

Ron's expressions softened at her words; all he wanted to know was whether she still cared about Harry. He reached out to take her hand gently. His hand was big and warm; Hermione had forgotten how it felt like to hold his hand.

"He'll come to, 'Mione. I promise."

She nodded and wiped more tears off her cheeks as she squeezed his hand. She had to be strong for Harry. She wanted to be there for him when he finally wakes up. She thought about Draco - she never stopped thinking about him. She feared for his safety and wished she could do more to help him. Where was he now? Had he found his mother yet?

Suddenly there was a commotion outside. They looked up as they hear Healer Morhorn's voice from his office.

"I thought I told you to go back to your room, Layla."

Layla ignored him and barged through the door.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"Parkinson," Layla simply said, her face still pale from shock, "Hermione, he's dead."

Hermione was astounded, "Wha- What did you say?"

Another commotion outside.

"LET ME IN, YOU MORON!"

"Sullivan, you--" Healer Morhorn tried to grab the angry Ministry wizard by his robes but failed.

"HERMIONE POTTER!"

A loud bang, and Sullivan burst through the door, quite literally, while yelling at the top of his lungs. Hermione's eyes went wide; and Ron, who was very taken aback by the sudden uproar, pressed his seat back to the wall instinctively.

"He's here. The Dark Lord, he was here! He killed Parkinson... he was my only other witness-- "

"And the reason for Harry's near-death!" Layla interrupted, angry that he was still defending Parkinson after all that had happened.

Sullivan glared at her and turned back to Hermione, demanding, "Potter, you have a lot to tell me, and you better tell me right now!"

Hermione's head couldn't keep up with the situation. Parkinson, dead. Killed. Draco... No, not Draco.

Sullivan went up to her, grabbing the metal frame on her bed, almost reaching out to shake her if Morhorn didn't hold him back, "Are you listening to me? What is wrong with you, Potter! The Dark Lord was just here-- "

"_Maybe_ she's not feeling well! Would you please, this is the hospital and I have another patient lying here, unconscious!" the Healer was furious. He had frozen at the mentioning of Lord Voldemort, but he was also a professional who cared deeply for his patients' health.

Layla walked up to Hermione and whispered something in her ear. Hermione's eyes went wide, she looked at Sullivan, and then looked at Layla to confirm what she told her was true. Layla nodded. Sullivan was still throwing a fit.

"Do I look like I give a damn, Healer? This is important Ministry matter! Potter, you better answer me now, or I'll-- "

"Or you'll what?" she spoke up, clearly and coldly. Sullivan's mouth clamped shut involuntarily. The ice in her voice, it was something Hermione never used before. Layla stood to her side, placing a hand on Hermione's bed as a sign of support.

"What would you do, Sullivan?" Hermione continued, "Threaten me again? Inform me how many Death Eaters are after me? Well unfortunately I'm quite aware, and the most recent attempt was by no other than the informant of your choice!" she slammed her hand onto the counter between her and Ron in anger, shaking the IV drip next to her. Ron jumped. Sullivan looked like he was lost for words already, but Hermione didn't stop there.

"You trusted that bastard, threatened him... spilled to him where Harry and I lived-- "

Sullivan tried to intervene, "Now, you can't say that-- "

"Then how did he find Harry!" Hermione exclaimed furiously, clutching at her chest and gasping for breath, "and he... tried to kill him! Can you take responsibility for this?"

Healer Morhorn went up to her side in concern, "Hermione... You shouldn't get so worked up. You're not completely well yet."

She continued to glare at her boss, who stared back at her without a hint of remorse. Panting for breath, she decided that this was it. She had enough.

"I_ quit_, Sullivan. You're not getting anything from me. I'm not working for you anymore."

"Potter!"

"I never signed up for this!" she responded so hotly Layla had to restrain her now.

"You heard her, now get out," Morhorn warned Sullivan as he tried to force him out of the room. Sullivan flung the man's arm away from him. Ron stood up, ready to protect Hermione. Sullivan glared at him, which made him nervous, but he didn't step back. Sullivan peered around Ron to look at Hermione in her face.

He threatened her, "He will get you, Potter. Both you, and your husband!"

"Then let him KILL ME!"

Something had snapped inside her, and her rage spilled out uncontrollably. She snatched Ron's wand from his cloak pocket and sent Sullivan flying out the room, out of Morhorn's office and smashing into the corridor wall, slamming all the doors behind him. They could still hear Sullivan's curses. Hermione dropped the wand onto her lap and broke into tears.

Morhorn gently took Ron's wand from Hermione's lap and handed it back to Ron. And with his own wand, he muttered "_Silencio_" under his breath, pointing at the door. They could no longer hear Sullivan.

"Bloody hell, Hermione..." Ron looked quite shaken as he took his wand from the Healer's hand. Hermione had just outright defied the head of the Department of Secrecy. The unthinkable.

Layla quietly held Hermione's hand to comfort her. Suddenly coming to her senses, Hermione wiped the tears off with her sleeve and looked up at Layla, "Layla... Draco. He'll get him."

Hermione struggled to get out of bed, pulling the IV device out of her arm. Morhorn quickly pushed Layla aside and held Hermione down, "You can't get up right now."

"I have to go," she was determined to leave.

Ron was rather bewildered, "Draco? Draco Malfoy, you mean? What does this have to do with him?" He didn't know anything about Draco and Hermione after all.

Layla placed a hand onto Hermione's shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"Hermione. He said he'll write you."

"Yes... But he doesn't know what happened to Parkinson..." she turned to Layla, wanting her to understand so badly, "You know he's next, Layla!"

Layla stood back for a moment; she couldn't say that she didn't guess that too.

"I do... but I'm worried about you."

Hermione shook her head, saying she was fine. Morhorn tried to strap the IV device back onto Hermione's arm. She struggled again, refusing to sit still. She got off the bed, but felt too weak to stand and collapsed to the floor. Ron, who had been puzzled and thus standing back and listening, quickly ran up to her and held her up.

Morhorn looked conscience-stricken as he helped too, "Hermione, please... I - I extracted too much from you. You know you can't walk right now..."

"You what-- ?" Ron exclaimed. Both he and Layla raised their eyebrows in disbelief. They thought the Healer knew what he was doing. Well... in a sense, he did.

"It was... it was the only way," Healer Morhorn explained regretfully.

Hermione sat on the bed again, now feeling a little light-headed. It was true, she had had to convince him it was the right thing. Harry had lost critical amount of blood when he came in that morning, and as Morhorn had told Sullivan, the hospital had run out of the usual dragon blood supplements. The new supply was just brought in an hour ago, now treating Hermione for her anemia. Only Morhorn and she had known that he did something fairly risky - Sullivan's threat earlier could well have caused him trouble if Hermione let slip. But Harry had survived because of it, and she would do everything to make sure that he was fine.

"It was the right thing to do," Hermione reassured Morhorn, grasping his arm, "I won't tell anyone, I promise. So please..." She pleaded desperately, "Let me go, Healer. Please... help me."

He gulped, but he didn't take her words as a threat. The distraught in her eyes told him how important this Draco meant to her, but he shook his head, "I... I can't send you to your death, Hermione."

"Hermione," Layla tried to convince again too, "I know I've only known him for thirty minutes, and I've barely spoken to him... but I know that he's a strong and brave guy. He can protect himself."

"_Brave and strong_," Ron said sarcastically, "I don't know that about Malfoy."

Hermione ignored Ron's comment but frowned as tears flowed down her cheeks, "It doesn't matter, Layla," she turned to her, looking straight into her eyes, "It takes just one spell, one mistake... and he can be gone forever. I can't risk that. I can't let something like this..." she glanced at Harry sadly, "something like this happen to him too. I can't live with myself if he got hurt. Please understand."

Layla almost relented. Ron was about to ask why Hermione cared so much about Malfoy, when she tried to get off the bed again. But then she stopped, for she heard a familiar squeaky voice.

"Don't go now, Mistress Hermione!"

A tiny green house elf popped into existence.

"Symon!"

Symon landed on her bed, coming up close to her nervously.

"Why are you here?"

"Whose is this house elf?" Ron asked, quite unable to keep up with all the crazy things happening to him since he came to visit.

Symon fumbled his fingers, looking rather embarrassed. His ears drooped.

"I was... Symon was supposed to change Master Parkinson's memory, Mistress Hermione... in case he escapes and finds... finds the Dark Master. But Symon obviously failed."

Hermione quickly understood that it was Draco's instructions to do so, to ensure information wasn't leaked to his superior.

"Symon, how is he? Is he... in danger?" she asked timidly, scared to hear the answer.

Symon glanced at the other witches and wizards nervously, "I... can't say, Mistress Hermione. Symon was about to report to Master right away about Master Parkinson... but Master also told Symon to make sure you're safe here, Mistress Hermione," he glanced at the others in the room again, all whom looked encouraging right now. And he continued, "Please don't go now... Master is fine now, but he will face the Dark Master soon... so he can't have his... his weakness with him."

Symon stared up at Hermione with his round teary eyes, hoping she'd trust him and listen to him. Hermione looked hesitant now. She hadn't moved from her place since Symon had spoken to her.

The little house elf tried saying more to convince her to stay, "The Dark Master will see through him if you're with him..."

Hermione's eyes blinked involuntarily as tears welled up from them. She knew that he was right. She knew she couldn't be of help right now. It was simply frustrating to lie in bed and not even be able to stand up on her own feet, to actively help Draco. To protect him. She wanted to protect him.

"Symon... Symon swears with his life, Mistress Hermione," he feebly reached out to take her hand. He had never taken a human hand like this before in his life, but Hermione had taught him how to comfort others; and right now, he knew she needed the comforting, like he did when he confessed his abusive relationship with Kreacher and Bellatrix just the night before. It was a big step for a tiny house elf, and even in her faltering state Hermione was conscious enough of what it meant to Symon to take her hand and speak to her - He was absolutely serious.

"I promise he will write you, Mistress Hermione. Symon will make sure, make sure Master is safe." He nodded again and again to reassure her, squeezing her hand with his long twig-like fingers. Normally they would be of no comfort, since his hands were so cold and frail - insubstantial in size. But Hermione felt his sincerity, his loyalty and his readiness to do anything to protect Draco. That heart was more substantial than anything that could comfort Hermione, maybe except Draco being next to her right now.

And so she nodded. She would stay for now. Everyone sighed in relief.

After a while, Symon left a few words with her, promised again to be back and disapparated with a pop. Healer Morhorn made Hermione lie down again and made sure she was medically well cared for. Ron had a lot of questions, but Layla hushed him and dragged him out of the room. Questions can wait; it was time for Hermione to rest.


	21. To explain nothing

**Chapter Twenty-one: To explain nothing

* * *

**

_I once heard that the greatest privilege and comfort of friendship is that you had to explain nothing. Is that how it was with you and Malfoy?_ - Harry, in a later conversation with Hermione

The Black family's country villa was faintly familiar from Draco's childhood days. Standing tall at the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean, the house now belonged to the LeStranges. Draco remembered the place to be better maintained back when he was younger, though his memory may well have glorified the old days. Now the garden was overgrown, parts of the building were falling apart and thick layers of vines covered the once flawless white walls. Draco was sure that Bellatrix and her husband had been too engrossed in serving their Dark Lord since their return from Azkaban to care for the villa. Lucius hadn't been particularly excited about their homecoming, but Narcissa was overjoyed when she was reunited with her sister.

It made Draco nervous now as he stood at the doorway of the ancient mansion in the southern British countryside. Despite all his misgivings of Bellatrix, he knew one thing for a fact - Narcissa Malfoy still loved her sister no matter what. How was he to tell her that he, her very son, was likely the one who killed her deranged but beloved sister? Draco could only hope that his mother loved him enough to forgive him.

He had put off visiting his mother for months now; it was hard to say whether she would welcome him with open arms, or slap him across the face for ignoring her for so long. Even though he had received her letters, he never responded to them unless necessary. When she asked for things to be sent to her, he owled them right away. When she asked him to meet his fiancée, he did so right away. But he didn't write her. He couldn't tell her that he liked being alone without her constant supervision; he couldn't tell her that he found his fiancée so boring that he sometimes wanted to strangle her to stop her chattering. He found it hard to lie to Narcissa. That was the power she had over him as a mother.

When Draco deciphered from her letters that Bellatrix had brainwashed her into believing Lucius was still alive, Draco couldn't bear to break it out to her that Lucius was truly gone. Narcissa could give a chilly first impression - a trait largely inherited from the Black family line - but she was a devoted wife and an easily heartbroken mother. Draco cared for her. She might never forgive him for what he had done, but no one could deny that he truly cared for her.

He knocked at the door. His restlessness was clear in his hesitant rapping.

Nobody answered. Draco considered apparating into the house, but he remembered that the house was protected by a charm to keep out strangers. He knocked again. This time he heard hurried footsteps to the door. It didn't sound like the pitter-patter of his mother's shoes. Instead, the heavy thumping suggested it was his hot-tempered and rugged uncle. Draco stood back a few steps and straightened his back as the door opened. He braced himself; Rodolphus LeStrange was not a man to mess with.

The door came crashing open outward and smashed against the outer wall of the building, much like how Draco had expected it would. A large angry wizard stomped out of the house with his wand raised, ready to strike the unexpected visitor. Rodolphus was about to chant the most dreadful torture curse he could think of, until he saw who it was that had knocked at the door. Draco tried not to look stricken and kept a stiff expression on his face as the elder wizard eyed him from head to toe.

"Well, well," Rodolphus murmured through his thick black beard as he lowered his wand, "Isn't it my young nephew... Growing old, eh? You were this tiny when I last saw you."

Rodolphus' beady eyes smiled wickedly as he held a hand up to the height of his waist with his palm pointing downward.

Draco glanced at the height his uncle had suggested he was when they last met and only answered tersely, "A little taller than that, I would think."

He walked straight pass Rodolphus and into the house without asking for further permission, irritating Rodolphus greatly. Draco may have feared Bellatrix for her cunning wit, but in comparison her husband was more of a physical threat rather than a mental challenge. He had been terrified of his uncle at a younger age, but as he grew older, taller and more adept at handling magic, Draco learned not to fear the big, hulking man. In fact, he was quite in the mood to show his uncle that he had no intention of being treated like a little runt ever again. And as soon as Draco had decided on how he'd treat Rodolphus LeStrange for the rest of the morning--

"You know this is my house, right, you little runt?" Rodolphus said through gritted teeth. The pale blonde brat he once knew had grown into an unbearably pompous sleazebag much like his father.

"It is as much my mother's house as it was Aunt Bella's..." Draco said as he stopped half way down the hallway and turned to his uncle. "I'd like to see my mother," he stated plainly.

Rodolphus frowned and shouted at him from the doorway, "What do you mean by _was_?"

Draco didn't answer and instead walked further into the house and up the stairs. He knew which room his mother liked best, and he was fairly certain she was there at this time of the day. Rodolphus groaned and followed his nephew into the house. He would teach that patronizing kid a lesson later.

x x x

"Draco!"

"Mother," Draco responded with less visible enthusiasm and walked to the center of the indoor veranda. He stood still there anxiously as Narcissa practically danced towards him.

She looked older than he had remembered, though she still dressed stylishly as always. Her dark blue dress was graceful and strands of her platinum blonde hair flowed around her as she wrapped her arms tightly around her only son. Draco sighed in relief inside.

_Well, at least she hasn't already slapped me across the face before she's heard the bad news._

Narcissa didn't seem affected by how reserved her son was - Draco had always been a private young man. On her end, she couldn't even begin to express how much she had missed him, "Where were you all this time, son? I missed you so-- "

"Mother, we can talk later," Draco stopped her in mid-sentence and took her hand urgently, "We have to go now." He hadn't forgotten the main purpose of his visit.

"Go?" Rodolphus questioned from the door, "Go where?"

Draco ignored him and tugged his mother out the door and towards the stairs.

Narcissa was awfully confused, "Draco, I haven't seen you in months, and the first thing you tell me is that we're leaving? Where are we going?"

Draco stopped two steps down the stairs when his mother repeated Rodolphus' question. He suddenly realized he hadn't considered where they would go. To the Ministry? He trusted Hermione, and by extension Layla, but did he trust the rest of the Ministry?

Draco can foresee a lot of trouble at the Ministry of Magic now that Bellatrix LeStrange was dead and Patrick Parkinson was arrested. He was a Death Eater, and not just any Death Eater... he was part of the Dark Alliance, the Dark Lord's most trusted group of dark wizards. His one good deed - saving Hermione Potter from other Death Eaters - couldn't possibly redeem all the horrible things he had done in the past. He wished it'd be that simple, but he knew enough to know that Hermione's boss wasn't a lenient guy like that. For all he knew, Sullivan would likely turn a blind eye on what happened that morning and still arrest Draco. And his mother. Families were often sent to Azkaban in lots. So where else would they go?

And Hermione; Draco had been trying to not think about her. He had realized very quickly that thinking about her only made him wish to apparate to her side right away. Such emotions were not helpful when he was trying to keep up a stern image in front of his uncle, or when he was trying not to expose his feelings to his mother, who would certainly flip if she found out that he was seeing someone other than the woman his parents had chosen for him.

"I can't just leave like this, Draco," Narcissa was still saying, "Where is Bella?"

"Yea, where is my wife?" Rodolphus asked angrily, now very suspicious of his nephew's hasty behavior, "She met you last night, I know that much. Where did she go after that?"

Yea, where did she go after that? Draco had no idea. Possibly Bellatrix and Parkinson decided to hunt down the Potter couple together after realizing that Hermione was a liability. Maybe that was how Parkinson discovered the Potter hideout. But it couldn't be that easy to overcome those protective charms...

"I have no idea where she went after last night," he answered honestly. Well, that was half the story.

Now his mother was suspicious. She didn't miss her son's habit of glancing slightly to his right when he lied. She squeezed his hand that was holding on to her until a moment ago. Draco turned to look at her in the face.

_Draco, I can tell when you are lying,_ she was saying with her eyes without saying it out loud. Draco knew that look on his mother's face.

He sighed. He couldn't avoid the truth any longer.

"Aunt Bella and Mr. Parkinson..." he tried to pick his words carefully, "They tried to attack the Potters this morning. Parkinson got Harry Potter quite seriously injured. The Aurors came, we had a fierce fight and Mr. Parkinson was taken into custody... and Aunt Bella..."

He glanced at his mother, who was looking more and more anxious with his every word. She no longer held his hand; instead her hands were tightly clasped together at her chest and her lips quivered with concern.

"Keep going!" Rodolphus roared, shaking his fists at his nephew in agitation.

Draco quietly gulped and then continued with a faintly shaking voice.

"Aunt Bella... she didn't make it."

His mother released a most piercing cry of anguish the moment the words came out of his lips. Her shrilly voice made Draco flinch. Narcissa sank onto the carpeted floor at the top of the staircase. Draco quickly went to her side to help her get back onto her feet.

"Bella? ...BELLA?" Narcissa had a hard time digesting the situation as she let her son help her into a chair.

Rodolphus' face was pale white; his voice went off key when he spoke, "How... how come you came back alive and unharmed?"

Draco kept his face straight, trying not to let his uncle see his guilt, but Rodolphus wasn't easily fooled. He knew of the animosity between his wife and his nephew; and Draco's brief silence was enough confirmation that Draco hadn't tried his best to save his wife.

"YOU COWARD! You ran away, didn't you? You left her to die!"

_Well, HE'S got it all wrong. _But Draco didn't have time to verbally defend himself; his uncle was so furious, he was already shooting deadly hexes at Draco.

"_Protego!_ Listen, you old fool-- _PROTEGO!_" Draco shouted between defensive spells, "I don't want to fight you!"

The duel had now moved from the top of the stairs down into the living room. Hexes and charms shot through the house, destroying everything on their way.

"Why, of course you don't!" Rodolphus raged, "You're scared of fighting! You've always been scared of showing your shrimpy--"

Draco didn't let him finish his sentence; he blasted Rodolphus into a wall, which broke through easily under the force of his large body smashing into it.

"I wasn't scared, Rodolphus!" Draco shouted, "She tried to kill me..." his voice trailed away as he spoke the truth.

"What do you mean she _tried to_ _kill you_?" Narcissa was incredulous.

Draco spun around to see that she was standing at the bottom of stairs after having followed her son and her brother-in-law down the stairs. Rodolphus groaned in pain in a collapsed corner of the room.

"Draco..." Narcissa begged as she went up to her son, "Please, tell me what happened. Be truthful to me."

Draco frowned, "...You really want the truth, mother?"

She nodded slowly and earnestly.

Draco stared at his mother for a moment until he gathered up enough courage to tell her. And then he took a deep breath, "I killed her, mother. I killed Aunt Bella."

Narcissa gasped. Rodolphus cranked his neck as if he'd misheard; his eyes were wide in shock.

"I didn't mean to..." Draco continued quickly, dreading his mother's outburst coming any minute now, "But she tried to kill me when I stood in her way of killing... killing a friend of mine. I had to protect Her-- "

"A friend! A FRIEND!" Rodolphus stumbled as he tried to get back onto his feet, sweeping the dust off his shoulders. Draco worried what his uncle knew from Bellatrix, and what he'd say to his mother. His fears became true soon enough as Rodolphus blurted out, "You mean your LOVER, Draco! YOU KILLED MY WIFE FOR HARRY POTTER'S MUDBLOOD?"

Narcissa seemed rather unaffected by Rodolphus' outburst. Instead when she saw that her brother-in-law was raising his wand again to attack Draco, she pulled out her wand without hesitation and pointed it at him, "_Impedimenta!_"

Rodolphus tumbled to the floor with the force of her spell. As he tried to get up again Narcissa flicked her wand once more, sending him out through the doorway. She locked the door from him as well.

"Nobody raises a wand at my son," Narcissa huffed. Draco's eyes shined a little despite himself.

_"This is my house, Narcissa!"_ Rodolphus yelled from outside the door

"And I am still part of the Black family!" Narcissa stated furiously, "This is _my_ house, Rodolphus!"

Rodolphus cursed at her, rattling the doorknob with all his might.

_What an angry bunch we are, _Draco thought as Narcissa walked away from her brother-in-law's banging and went to the window for some comfort from the scenery outside. It was a beautiful morning with rolling waves breaking at the edge of the cliffs. She watched the ocean beyond quietly, neither fuming nor unemotional. Draco followed her one step behind, watching her. He wasn't sure what he should do now. Narcissa sighed heavily.

"Why, Draco...?" she spoke softly and turned to him; he looked up to see her sad eyes. Her voice was unassertive, unlike how Lucius would have spoken in such a situation.

She asked, "What about this friend of yours made you stand in the way of Bella's wand?"

Draco bit his lip, realizing as he did so that he had picked up Hermione's habit. Even as he tried to speak - his lips parting and quickly closing, once and then twice - he couldn't verbalize his feelings for Hermione. He loved her. He loved her so much. And yet when he was asked to explain, he didn't know how.

Narcissa turned away from her son's pained expression, unable to watch him any longer. She knew that expression - one of a man anguished by his own powerlessness in love. No, her son can't be falling for a woman that was out of his reach. She tried to change the subject, to take her mind off the revelation.

"Son... Bella was nothing but kind to us... how can you turn against her like this?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her late sister. Draco clenched his fists, frustrated how his mother still failed to see how Bellatrix had been manipulating them both all along. But was he going to tell her the truth?

"Mother... she hadn't been all that kind to me, you know that," he treaded softly.

She burst with emotion, "But she took me in, Draco! She took me in when I was lonely, and she took care of you instead of me when I couldn't! And here you tell me that you've fallen for a muggle-born... what am I to tell your father when he returns?"

Draco couldn't stand how she really seemed to believe that Lucius was still alive, making Bellatrix sound like a saint in her life. _No, mother. Bellatrix wasn't a saint. She hated Lucius. She was suspicious of me. She kept you by her side so I wouldn't even dream of leaving the Dark Lord. She didn't even hesitate when I defended the one I loved. She was going to kill me. She was going to kill your son. How's that for a sister?_

Narcissa was still going on and on about how she couldn't face Lucius when he would learn that his son had been seeing Harry Potter's wife. No, Draco couldn't lie to her anymore.

"Mother-- "

Draco insisted again as she kept ranting, "_Mother._"

Narcissa stopped, her voice dwindling. Her eyes strangely glanced to her right, the way Draco did when he lied. He realized - Narcissa knew.

"Mother, you know she's been lying to you," Draco said. It wasn't a question.

Narcissa shook her head in denial.

"Mother, please face the facts. Father's been away for months... there's no mission like that from the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella was lying to you."

She shook her head vigorously now.

"No," she said stubbornly, "no." That was all that she would say.

"Mother..." Draco tried again, now holding his mother's arm, gently, not forcefully, "Mother, father is dead... He was killed two months ago."

Tears welled from her eyes again, this time she couldn't hold them in.

"Is it true too then..." she began, her voice so soft he could barely hear her, "that you've fallen in love with a mudblood?"

"A _muggle-born_, mother," Draco corrected her quickly, surprised at himself for how defensive he felt about Hermione's heritage. And he continued, "A witch nonetheless. Her great grandmother might have been a witch in hiding, and-- "

Narcissa cut him off, "It doesn't matter, Draco! She's not a pureblood, is she?"

Draco couldn't answer. He knew how important it was to his parents that he married a 'respectful' pureblood. Draco had thought so too until not long ago, if he ever really thought deeply about marriage in general. He wasn't thrilled about marrying Lady Antonette's daughter, but he wasn't against the idea until a while ago. The girl was pretty; it wasn't a bad thing. But falling in love with Hermione... he had changed his mind.

If he were to marry, he wanted to marry the one he loved. The one whose cheek he had kissed just that morning; the one who held his hand so lovingly when he had awoken; the one who made him realize that neither bloodline nor their places in society mattered when it came to love. He loved her.

He asked boldly now, "Does it matter?"

"_Does it matter_?" she questioned with disbelief, "Yes, it matters! Are you even really my son? What did you do to Draco!"

Draco wryly dismissed his mother's paranoia, "Mother, I'm still me."

"But she's_ married_!" Narcissa exclaimed, "What are you going to do? Have an affair with her? Wait until this _mudblood _divorces her husband _Potter_?"

"Mother, will you please!" Draco couldn't stand his mother's intolerance, "Please, stop calling her that."

Narcissa couldn't believe her ears, "What, I can't call her that now that you're besotted with her? You've called her that yourself when you were younger, following your father's example! You hated that girl! Where did that Draco go? What happened to my son!"

Draco's eyes watered but he quickly blinked them away; he refused to cry in front of his mother. But right now, thinking about the one woman he had learned to love, the one woman he wanted to hold in his arms right now... He felt frustrated that he couldn't make his mother see it from his eyes, that he was ashamed for how he had treated Hermione in the past, that he no longer believed in the entitlement of pureblood aristocrats like his parents did. He didn't know how to explain it to her - He had never expressed his feelings to his mother honestly in his life. And there were all the other obstacles in his relationship with Hermione that troubled him.

Narcissa watched Draco's face - twisted in anguish and yet so tender and so emotional. She had forgotten that her son could look like this. Draco had grown up looking so much like his father - his blond hair, his sharp chin, his tall forehead and sharp grey eyes. He had shown more emotion when he was a baby, but Lucius wouldn't allow the family heir to whimper or laugh loudly even at that age. So quickly he was trained to act like a respectable little gentleman. When Lucius died, Narcissa couldn't bear to look at her own son, with his head still high and no tears from his eyes, looking exactly like Lucius. It was part of the reason why she moved to the countryside villa; she had to get away from the ghosts of her dead husband. In the depths of her heart, Narcissa never believed that Lucius was still alive. She took Bellatrix's lies as kindness, pretending she didn't realize that she was a captive to her sister's sick manipulative games.

She knew it, but she couldn't accept it. Being with Draco reminded her too much of Lucius' death. And yet after weeks of locking herself up, Narcissa missed her only son and began to write him letters. She told him how much she cared for him and how much she missed him. But she was a coward. She asked him to visit her, knowing Draco wouldn't, because he hated seeing his aunt and was too reserved of a man to display a need of parenthood in his life. She asked and asked, in every letter, but she couldn't take the simple step of apparating back to visit him. She was scared - What if she broke down the moment she saw him? What if he had changed so much that she wouldn't be able to recognize him?

And here he was, emotional and vulnerable like her, unlike the man he used to imitate to the dot. Imitate his father - maybe that was all that Draco had done all these years. He had been so good at closing his mind, even to her. And now he was openly showing his emotions to her.

Narcissa was quite alarmed; her son had lost his edges. This Draco now wouldn't be able to hold himself together in front of the Dark Lord. She felt responsible for his change, even though she knew she had nothing to do with it. But now that he was going down a dangerous path that proved to be lethal for a Death Eater, she had to do something, anything. And as she thought so, the air began to chill in the room. Draco's eyes went wide and Narcissa gasped. They both knew it was a sign that Lord Voldemort was amongst them now.

"Draco Malfoy."

He thought his heart would stop when he heard that voice. That icy, slippery voice. Narcissa took his hand and squeezed it tight; her fear made its way to him through her tight grasp. They slowly turned around to see the Dark Lord in their doorway, standing as tall as Draco was, if not taller.

From beneath the mask that covered a face so deformed by cruelty, Lord Voldemort spoke first - he always spoke first.

"I was wondering, Draco... Why you weren't at Saint Mungo's like Patrick... or at the Ministry. Luckily Rodolphus here informed me that you were about to leave."

Rodolphus appeared at the doorway and leaned against the doorframe, looking smug. Draco seethed at his uncle and became nervous as he realized that Parkinson was likely dead if the Dark Lord had visited Saint Mungo's. And now his master was here... looking for him.

Lord Voldemort continued, dragging each word out like a snake would slither around your body, "I'd miss you, you know... And Narcissa, you as well... Where were you going?"

Every syllable was hair-raising. Draco was about to speak up when his mother interjected, "We're not going anywhere, my Lord."

Her voice was surprisingly steady; Draco had to glance at Narcissa to see her expressions. She was paler than before, though her face betrayed no emotion. _Bravo, mother. Except He probably already saw through your lies._

"Oh... intriguing," the Dark Lord said. Draco could almost see his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

"But I think Draco here begs to defer."

Draco felt his eyebrows twitch and his jaw tighten nervously. Narcissa spoke first again, "Forgive us, My Lord... My son is just confused. I'll give you my word as his parent... I will keep him on the right path-- "

Now Lord Voldemort interrupted her coldly, "Narcissa, as much as I respect you - you are, a truly delightful woman – but I'd like to talk to your son, privately. I'll give _you_ my word. ...He'll stay on the right path after this." He flicked his wand at her, motioning for her to leave the living room.

Even Narcissa knew when she was told to back off. She bowed a little and walked into the adjacent dining hall, to where Rodolphus followed. Draco's eyes didn't follow his trembling mother as she walked away; instead they focused on his master's wand, which the Dark Lord waved lazily back and forth. Draco couldn't stop the shivering in his lower jaw. He raised his chin and gritted his teeth, trying not to lose self-control. He kept saying to himself in his head, _close your mind, Draco. Close your mind. Close your mind, goddamn it!_

His life depended on it; Hermione's life depended on it. He remembered the cute speechless look on her face that morning when he woke her up with a kiss. He remembered her bashfulness after their shower together... her sweet smile, her sweet scent, her calming voice... He closed his eyes; her voice resounded in his head. Slowly he became calm, calm beyond belief. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze onto the Dark Lord's masked face, his eyes now relaying confidence. Draco waited until he heard Rodolphus settle down in a chair in the other room. Then he spoke.

"Are you going to kill me now, My Lord?"

His voice was steady. Draco thought the Dark Lord might have lifted an eyebrow at his fearlessness; his swinging wand certainly stopped in its tracks.

Was it possible that he had taken Lord Voldemort off guard?

The dark wizard's face turned towards the window outside, as if he was contemplating something in the sun. He spoke after a moment of silence, "You baffle me... Draco," he said slowly, "Why didn't you run away?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I was at the hospital earlier, Draco," Voldemort said, turning to him now and walking up to him. It made Draco uncomfortable how he couldn't see his Lord's eyes through the dark slits in his mask even at close distance.

Voldemort continued to explain, "You must already know that I've gotten rid of Patrick, you're a smart boy..."

"Not much of a boy now, sir," Draco said, trying not to gulp too obviously as he hoped Symon had wiped Parkinson's memory before the Dark Lord got to him.

The Dark Lord seemed to have read his mind and snickered, "I'm so much older than you, Draco. You'll always seem like a boy to me... like that first day you got your Dark Mark when you were still in school... You were so nervous then, I'm surprised of what you've become now."

He seemed genuinely impressed, but Draco knew better than to be thrilled; the Dark Lord's praises were almost always followed by worse humiliation.

Voldemort placed his wand on the fireplace next to him. Draco didn't understand the meaning of the gesture until the Dark Lord raised his hand to his face and removed his mask. Draco tried not to cringe when he saw the Lord's hideous face. The man had slits for eyes and strangely smooth skin, as if he had received a Botox overdose. The expression on his face revealed almost no emotion, maybe except a slight bedazzlement.

"Unlike Patrick, you're not cowardly," Voldemort continued, "Well Patrick is - was - emotional, sentimental... _Weak_." He put much emphasis on that last word, with such contempt in his voice. In Lord Voldemort's world, you're either strong, or weak. That was the only definition that mattered. Draco knew that already.

"Weakness is something I can't tolerate, my boy... And this is where you puzzle me," he said, stroking his chin as he looked down at Draco with thin eyes, "You're cold. You're confident even now when I could punish you for your disloyalty. And yet... you still seem to be intent on protecting a woman who had decided to return to her injured husband, instead of following you here.... when you could be walking towards your death."

Draco grimaced, for Lord Voldemort had pointed out where it hurt the most. Draco had convinced himself it was reasonable that Hermione needed to make sure Potter was well and good. Wouldn't it be hypocritical of him to think poorly of her when _he_ couldn't be at _her_ side either? But his mind didn't care about the reasonable. He wanted her to be with him right now. If this was his moment of death, he wished she were there with him. Or maybe he didn't wish that. Maybe he didn't want her to see him miserable and powerless.

"What's in it for you, my boy?" the Dark Lord asked curiously, gliding a finger along the smooth marble fireplace, "Why aren't you squirming in fear right now, if you have a weakness just like Patrick did?"

Those were certainly questions he never expected from the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was strangely philosophical, but acute as always. Even now as Draco used Occulmency at his best he can still feel the Dark Lord's inner eye's grilling stare.

Draco _was_ scared. In fact, he was_ terrified_, a reason why after all the years of working under the Dark Lord, Draco hadn't even thought of leaving his side. His confidence in the years before was a farce, a defensive mechanism. Draco had lived in fear every day since his father told him he would join the other Death Eaters when he grew up. And when he grew up finally, he had prayed nightly to Merlin his fears wouldn't be exposed, ever.

So indeed he should be more scared, like Parkinson was, when he found someone like Hermione to love, someone who could break his heart. Instead he found peace, something the Dark Lord apparently didn't understand. As a matter of fact Draco realized that Lord Voldemort, one of the most feared wizards of all time, _didn't get it_. He really didn't get it.

That was when Draco smiled. It wasn't an arrogant smirk; it wasn't nervous laughter like what Voldemort was used to hearing from his followers either. Instead it was a knowing smile, a satisfied smile. And it made the elderly wizard uncomfortable.

"Who is she to you?" he demanded, his voice betraying emotion. Narcissa and Rodolphus peered into the room from the dining room door as they had noticed too the change in the Lord's tone of voice even without hearing his words clearly.

Draco smiled still, so natural a smile in a situation where he should be nervous that he was surprised with himself. He answered truthfully, "I don't know, sir... I can't even explain it to myself."

The unknown. Unknown, and yet Draco Malfoy seemed so sure about himself.

It was an unknown that Lord Voldemort couldn't condone. He knew what it was probably - that thing that people called _love _– Voldemort scowled at the word. Love. That thing that he couldn't understand. That he could never understand. He did not understand its power either. A power that the young Tom Riddle within his current disfigured self feared secretly. And yet Draco Malfoy had mastered it.

"It would be a shame to maim you, son... Your lack of fear amuses me... But,"

Draco knew exactly what was coming next; he could see the anger seething at the corner of his Lord's lips, the flare in those piercing eyes - a desire to cause infinite pain. _This would hurt,_ Draco thought in the back of his mind. It might cause him his life if it went on too long.

Voldemort opened his palm, his wand floated up and into his hand. Draco heard Narcissa screaming for him in the background as Rodolphus kept her from leaping out to save her son. He nervously glanced at his uncle, who now held his mother hostage with his wand pointed at her temple. "Don't you move," Rodolphus hissed at him. Draco merely stared at his uncle and then closed his eyes, embracing what was sure to come. The Dark Lord can torture him all he wanted, as long as his mother lived.

"_CRUCIO!_"

An excruciating pain shot through his entire body. And in that moment, Draco regretted his betrayal with every fiber of his being.

But he knew something now that he didn't know before: That he was no longer the same frightened boy who cried when he got his Dark Mark; that he had changed because he had someone to care for. And that the Dark Lord did not understand love.

And because of that, Draco was strong.

_I found what makes me strong, Hermione... It's you._


	22. To feel what you feel

**Author's notes:** That was a long haitus, sorry. But now I'm back!

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**Chapter Twenty-two: To feel what you feel

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**

_Master.  
......yea...  
Sorry, Master...  
For what?  
...Symon was too late._

Draco might have smiled if it didn't give him a splitting headache when he tried. It was already painful enough to concentrate on the thoughts Symon was sending him. Lying on the cold stone floor, he watched the faint puffs of water vapour he exhaled dissipate slowly as they left his blue lips. It was so darn cold in the basement; he felt sore, sluggish. How many days has it been since? Was it still May? He wasn't sure. It felt like summer had come and gone already.

He glanced at Symon again. The house elf was still wriggling his toes.

_Is there anything I can bring you, Master?_

Yet again, Draco almost smiled at Symon's thoughtfulness. Somewhere in the back of his mind he swore to treat the little bloke better in the future. At the very least, he'd give it a try. Did Draco need anything? Well, there certainly was a list of necessities, like food and water, a bath, clean clothes, antiseptic for the slashed cuts... but more than anything-- Well, Draco didn't need to say what he wanted more than anything. For now, he'd settle with something less.

_Some parchment and ink... would be good, Symon. We'll see if I can write something without embarrassing myself._

x x x

Earlier that morning, Ron visited Hermione again. Back when he first learned that Hermione had grown close to Draco while working for the Ministry, he was upset and confused. Now that he began to piece the story together, he was downright pissed off.

"He's at our doorsteps; YOUR doorstep!" Ron shouted loud enough for the nurse in Healer Morhorn's office to shush him from the outside.

He looked embarrassed for a moment, apologized to the nurses, and then continued to whisper loudly to Hermione, "You know who I'm talking about... He nearly got Harry; he nearly got _you!_"

Hermione would have responded quickly. But she knew this argument would inevitably be about Draco, and she certainly didn't feel comfortable arguing about him in front of Harry, even when he was unconscious.

"Let's talk in the garden, Ron," Hermione begged him, pushing Ron out into the corridor. He grunted and complied; they walked in silence for a while.

As they walked down the stairs, she glanced at her hot-tempered bosom friend. He had deep furrows on his forehead and a lopsided frown on his face. She knew that face so well. This Ron right now wouldn't give in.

She sighed, "Ron, I understand you're worried. Just because I care about a Death Eater doesn't mean I'm crazy."

"Has he gotten you brainwashed or something?" Ron asked in disbelief, "Hermione, he used to call you a-- a _mudblood_!" he stopped half way down the stairs to look at her, to confirm that she was sane, "I can't even say that word without cringing, and why you care about that scum is way beyond me! Have you forgotten how much pain he caused us in school? This isn't time to be confused, Hermione, tell Sullivan what you know!"

"Ron, you don't understa--"

"No, _you_ don't understand," Ron snapped.

She cocked an eyebrow and glared at him.

"You pretend you do, Hermione, but you obviously don't," he saw her anger, but he wasn't about to back off, "_Merlin-knows-why_, but you went off and befriended that condescending snot of a ferret, who's _as_ close to being You-Know-Who's right-hand man as _anyone_ can-- "

"He isn't like that," she interrupted him now, before he could continue his Malfoy's-an-ass speech again, "Ron, you haven't seen him in _years,_ and frankly, you barely really knew him even back then. _I_ barely knew him back then. He's not what you think. Please, trust me."

And then Ron would grunt and she would sigh and they would go back to a heated argument of why Hermione should or shouldn't expose Draco to Sullivan, just like the way they had argued for the past few times Ron had come to visit her and Harry. They parted at the hospital front entrance, never getting to the garden like Hermione had planned to. Ron promised to be back again. She knew he wouldn't relent until she agreed with him. That was Ron's way of doing things.

And this was her way of doing things: It had been almost a week since the Parkinson fiasco at Saint Mungo's. After much Ministry inspection, they had announced that Parkinson was delusional and probably killed himself out of fear of being sent to Azkaban. Hermione didn't buy it, so she went to see for herself.

The burn centre had been deserted since that day. All patients were moved to different rooms for fear of another attack from He-who-must-not-be-named. There was nothing wrong with the room as far as she could tell. From Layla's description of what happened that day, the Dark Lord seemed to have controlled Parkinson through his mind-- So where was the connection? Maybe the Dark Mark was not just a way for Voldemort to call for his followers. He must have some degree of control over them through the cursed tattoo as well.

It made Hermione anxious; she knew Harry often still felt the Dark Lord's presence in his mind even after having mastered Occulmency.

"He should be fine," Healer Morhorn comforted her when she professed her concerns to him, "Fortunately, or unfortunately... Mr. Potter is still unconscious. We read some brain activity, but so far nothing unusual... I doubt his mind can be invaded right now. If you'd like though, I can fix up something for him."

The Healer's supportiveness was comforting, but Hermione was worried about Draco too. Draco must have the connection with the Dark Lord that Parkinson had. She hadn't heard from Symon since that day when she promised him not to go looking for Draco. She was so worried that she woke up once in the middle of the night, only to find that she was squeezing the stress stone tightly. She let go immediately then. She missed him. She wanted to call for him. But she couldn't. She shouldn't. Draco couldn't betray a hint of concern for her if he were at the Dark Lord's side right now. The thought scared her, that she couldn't even tell whether he was dead or alive. She couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering if he were safe. Most of her relationship with Draco had been like this: longing for each other, not knowing when they would see each other again. And yet this trust - this connection - not even Ron's persuasive words could severe their bond.

Someone knocked at the door. She came out of her stupor and turned away from the window.

"Yes?"

Just as she thought about him, Ron opened the door and came in. By now Hermione sighed whenever she saw him.

"How's Harry?" he asked, averting his eyes from her.

She shook her head and turned back towards the window, looking away from him as well.

They stood in silence for a while, with Hermione staring out the window and Ron staring at Harry's bed. He spoke first, hesitantly.

"Hermione, I know you're sick of hearing this by now... but I really think you should tell Sullivan what you know."

She shook her head, still not looking at him in the eye. Ron sighed, frustrated at her stubbornness. She turned to him then. He could tell that she was pleading for him to understand. But he couldn't, he simply couldn't fathom why she would care about Draco Malfoy. Not that scumbag that made their school days hell every opportunity he had. There was no reason to pity him, no reason for Ron to hesitate. Hermione knew Ron probably wouldn't forgive her for her disloyalty, but she had to try.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to you whether Draco is fine or not-- "

"No, it doesn't," he cut her off quickly to prevent her from continuing; she didn't let him.

"But it matters to me."

His face went livid. She regarded him with sad silence.

"So you actual care about Draco Malfoy," Ron said his name as if it were too disgusting to be on his lips.

She didn't say anything; she didn't need to. Ron's frown deepened.

"I hope you realize how impossible it is for me to understand why you would protect a guy, who mocked me and my family the first day we met."

"I do realize... Ron," she said as she went up to him, taking his hand, "But I'm asking you to try..."

He withdrew swiftly, though not violently. He couldn't let her guilt him into it. She still looked at him, straight into his eyes, determined to change his mind. Despite everything, she wasn't ashamed to admit her closeness to Draco any longer. And other than Harry, she knew she had to convince Ron that this was the right thing to do.

But no, he couldn't understand, "What is it between you and him?"

She stared at him for a moment longer, slowly turning away her eyes as she remembered the warm comforting moment she shared with Draco not long ago, lying on his bed, holding each other's hand. What would you call that? Draco wasn't a friend, wasn't a boyfriend, nor was he just her lover. He was none of that. He was more than all that. They shared one kiss; a lustful, sensual one on the top of the castle ruins. But their carnal instincts then didn't swamp their relationship for the rest of that night. In fact, it made them more bashful around each other - each touch more delicate, each glance more heart rendering. Their feelings for each other were so strong and yet so vulnerable. Ron noticed the moisture on her eyes. He didn't like it.

"... I don't really know, Ron. I just don't want him hurt."

The implications. The ambiguity. He didn't like it. He didn't like her answer, nor did he like the tears glimmering on her eyelashes. It made him uncomfortable that she was protective of their childhood nemesis. He was going to say something crude, something mean that could wreck their friendship – well, it crossed his mind – but he didn't. He would have, probably, if Hermione didn't have this look of shock on her face that made him turn around to see what she was staring at.

Harry had opened his eyes.

x x x

All hospitals seemed to have the same glaring white lights. They had the same white long corridors too, and the air always smelled pungent with sanitizers.

Those white lights... those bright florescent lights.

Hermione never quite liked them.

Those annoying details strangely stood out to her tonight. Even the sound of her footsteps seemed obnoxiously loud, no matter how hard she tried to be discreet passing through the corridors of Saint Mungo's.

Harry had opened his eyes finally about a week ago, and for the first time in a week, Ron and Hermione forgot their quarrel and held each other's hand as they went to Harry's side. A glimmer of hope, but it was quickly extinguished. Harry didn't seem to recognize their presence. His eyes moved when Hermione waved a hand over his eyes, but they neither followed nor ignored it completely. They simply blinked, and sluggishly at that. Not knowing what to make of the situation, the two friends called the Healer for help.

It didn't take long for Morhorn to figure out that Harry was partially paralyzed. In fact, the healers had expected the possibility, as Harry's injury in the lower spine was particularly severe. Unlike in the muggle world, there were reliable remedies for paralysis, but it was still a long grueling process for both Harry and the healers at Saint Mungo's. It was the hospital's decision not to give Harry a physically strenuous treatment without knowing the need. But now that it was clear Harry needed it, they quickly began the preparation process.

Hermione should be relieved; Ron surely was, and he went home happy for the first time in a week. But Hermione was restless. Potions to grow nerve cells took months to brew properly. The thought that it would be another few months before she could communicate with Harry bothered her deeply. The last time they had talked to each other was a fight. A fight with barely any conversation involved at that. She wanted to make it up with him, to talk about things and sort out their feelings. But now she was stuck in limbo again; except maybe now it was worse in a way because she felt ever more frustrated at her powerlessness. She tried not to show her frustration in front of Harry, even though she had no idea whether he knew she was there with him or not. But when she stepped out of that room, into Morhorn's office, and then out the corridor to the balcony for some fresh air and time alone... Hermione couldn't help but bury her head in her hands. The wait was maddening.

And then the letter; she cried over that letter.

_Sorry it took me so long. I'm alive. Can't receive letters, but please send some indication that you're okay. I miss you. - D._

Tears stained his words as she read them. He was alive; he was fine. Well, he was probably far from fine, as she could tell from his unusually disorganized handwriting, but he was alive. There were no words to describe how relieving that knowledge was for her. When she finally brought herself together enough to look up at Symon, who had delivered the letter to her, she noticed that he was fidgeting nervously. "Do you have to go soon, Symon?" she had asked then, clutching onto the letter as if it'd get snatched away if she didn't.

He nodded, whispering in his squeaky voice, "Master LeStrange... he is very watchful. Symon should be cooking right now."

Understanding the consequences if he were caught, Hermione quickly looked around her room for something discreet for Symon to take back with him. When Symon appeared at the hospital, she had apparated them to Harry and her flat for some privacy. In the end she picked out one of the earrings she had worn that night when they danced together in the Malfoy Manor, and she shrank it so that it didn't look too visible even in Symon's palms. It was a simple design with two silver lines twining around each other. She gave Symon a hug to thank him. He smiled a tiny smile, promising to be back with more letters.

That was the same day when Harry came to.

Since then Hermione often found herself turning around to the faintest squeak or disruption, thinking that Symon might have returned with a letter again. It had been almost a week since, and there was no news still. Symon had explained to her that Draco was still locked in the Dark Lord's dungeon, though he had been pardoned for his treachery. Rodolphus LeStrange wasn't happy about that, and took every opportunity to take it out on Draco and Symon. The Dark Lord had plans for Draco… and Narcissa couldn't go anywhere freely yet either. She sighed and folded Draco's letter neatly, returning it to her pocket. The wind was gentle on her skin and the air was getting warmer by the day. Summer was here -- flowers were in full bloom below the balcony and she could smell their sweet nectar even though she couldn't see them in the dark. Yet she didn't feel excited for them; there was too much on her mind.

"Pss."

Hermione looked up. Did she imagine that?

"Pss, Hermione!"

She heard it again; it sounded like Layla, but what would she be doing here pass midnight? Hermione looked over the ledge and down into the hospital garden, and sure it was: Layla was waving at her from almost 10 feet below her.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, quite surprised.

Layla chuckled and signaled for Hermione to wait. She disappeared for a moment, but Hermione soon heard the rustling of bushes and creaking of wooden posts to know that Layla was climbing up the balcony. Before Hermione could say anything, Layla was already throwing her legs over the balcony ledge.

"Layla, you really shouldn't," Hermione warned, though she couldn't help smiling at her vivacity.

"Don't you worry," Layla said as she jumped off the ledge, "it's been two weeks as Healer Morhorn said. I'm feeling quite good."

Hermione shook her head but didn't say anything more.

"So, moon-watching?" Layla asked, now turning towards the ledge and looking up at the sky. Hermione glanced at the moon above too. It was a full moon tonight.

"Maybe that's what brought me to the balcony..." Hermione whispered absentmindedly. Layla turned to look at her friend - yes, she was a friend, right? She didn't know Hermione very well still, but the past couple weeks she felt like she had bonded with her more than before. Layla had left Saint Mungo's not a week into her stay when Sullivan ordered her to return to her post as soon as her plaster cast came off. It wasn't like Layla could have worked in field positions yet at that point; all she received were mundane desk jobs. But Sullivan's intentions were clear - he wanted to remove all of Hermione's allies from her side, as soon as possible. And so Layla had returned to work begrudgingly, though she still visited Hermione and Harry every day.

"I'm back working in the field today," Layla said proudly.

Hermione turned to her and smiled, "I was wondering why you didn't show up. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Layla smiled too, "I like my job, despite the boss."

"Yea," Hermione agreed, "despite the boss, it's a good job."

Layla giggled at first, but then her expressions clouded as she remembered something important, "Speaking of which... you should be careful, Hermione."

Hermione turned to her questioningly.

"Sullivan... he's appealing to the Wizengamot to retrieve your memory from you, on the grounds of... social security."

_"The Wizengamot?"_

The Wizengamot was the equivalent of the high court of law in the wizardry community. Hermione had expected some kind of retaliation or desperate move from Sullivan, but she hadn't thought he would go for a court appeal. If he succeeded, Hermione would have to give up her memories of Draco to Sullivan. He could manipulate it however way he wanted to. He could arrest Draco, or be sensible and take Draco into protective custody. But she knew Sullivan's way wasn't about being sensible... If she had trusted him earlier she would have given him her memory willingly already.

"You might be called in for a hearing."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't scared of standing in front of judges, but she was worried that the Wizengamot would be just as corrupted as the rest of the Ministry as she knew it.

"I just wanted to tell you that as soon as I can," Layla said, now putting her hands on the ledge again and climbing onto it, "I figured you'd still be up." Layla was the only other person who knew of Draco's letter and how Hermione stayed up often reading them.

"Don't stay up too late," Layla said, patting Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione smiled a small smile, "Same to you."

Layla grinned and then climbed off the balcony, shouting one last thing before she left, "If you need anything, Hermione, I'll help in any way I can!" Hermione stood there for a moment longer, staring at the moon. Soon, she thought to herself. She hoped she could see Draco soon again.

x x x

The next day, Symon came with another letter. There were fewer words yet in this one; Hermione didn't need Draco to tell her that he took a lot of effort into just writing those few words to her. His handwriting was slanted, running across the parchment like a messy storm. Symon didn't tell her either how many times Draco had scraped a draft for just a couple words. He couldn't even count the crumples of parchment paper he had collected and destroyed so neither the Dark Lord nor Rodolphus would find them.

_I remember this, dangling from your ear as we danced. Thank you...  
About potty, he might be useful for you. - D._

Hermione smiled, so Draco did notice her earrings and even remembered which night she had worn them. The second half of the letter was a little more ambiguous at first. "Potty" was obviously Harry. Draco seemed to have left the nickname in lowercase so that it was less obvious, though anyone who knew Draco from Hogwarts days couldn't miss the reference. Hermione had updated Symon on her side of the story last time he came, so Draco must know by now that Harry was paralyzed, but how could who be useful to her? She looked up from the letter to Symon for an explanation.

"Master... told Symon to help Mistress Hermione... with Mr. Potter's condition."

It had been a little over a week since, but Harry still only moved his eyes. It made her hopeful though, for his eyes followed movements more readily now. Hermione tried to be encouraging, but when she couldn't quite tell whether Harry understood her words or not, it was difficult. Ron hadn't been any kinder to her either. After the initial shock, he had gone back to blaming her for Harry's situation. He probably wouldn't forgive her until Harry was completely healthy again.

"How do you mean?" she asked Symon now, her mind ransacking for possible ways he could help her. And then it came to her.

"You're… going to read his mind."

Why had she never thought of it? A Legilimens was all she needed to communicate with Harry, she should have realized long ago. But then, she didn't have anyone who she could trust that much. And Symon was someone she could trust.

Symon nodded, "Please take me to Mr. Potter," he said, bowing a little. The solemn expression on him made Hermione nervous. She complied and took him to Harry's room at once.

Arriving at Harry's room, Hermione hesitated and stopped at the door while Symon went right in. The house elf turned around to look at her and noticed her concern. He came back towards her and reached out to her, "It will be... very overwhelming, Mistress Hermione. You will hear his voice in your head. Please be ready."

Hermione swallowed uneasily and then nodded, taking his little hand. He guided her to Harry's bedside and then climbed up onto the bed.

"Please put your hand on his, Mistress Hermione" he instructed, putting his own hands on their overlapping hands as Hermione did as she was told to, "this makes it clearer..."

And then he closed his eyes, and she followed his example. Her heartbeat seemed to press against her chest for a while as she waited nervously, and then, suddenly, her consciousness cleared up like a sweeping field before her eyes. She felt empty, she felt overwhelmed, just like Symon said. Hermione opened her eyes. Nothing had supposedly changed in the room, and yet her awareness of Harry's presence, or rather, her presence in Harry's mind - she couldn't tell which was which - it changed her perspective completely. And then she heard him.

_Hey._

His voice in her head, it was so literal... she started tearing up, "How do you feel?" she croaked. She probably could have just thought the thought, but she felt strange still not speaking out loud.

_Been worse... I thought I heard you and Ron in a conversation earlier... did I dream that?_

She shook her head, wiping the tears with her free hand. Ron had been back to argue again. It was nothing new.

_I couldn't intervene even when I tried. Like a nightmare really... How long have I been lying here?_

"Almost two weeks now... I'm glad you're back."

He might have smiled; she _felt_ him smile.

_Is this his house elf?_

Symon nodded, he could hear his thoughts too.

"Yes, Harry... this is Symon. He can read thoughts."

_Impressive... That's better than my house elf, if he's still mine that is... Kreacher was a wreck. Malfoy's a lucky guy. ...He's lucky to have you care about him so much._

She knew that he was talking about her now, and guilt showed on her face.

"Harry... I'm sorry."

She felt his muddled thoughts for a moment, though the words weren't clear, like he was thinking about something. And then he spoke again,

_I'm sorry too... I was a fool for leaving you that night... it still feels like... yesterday for me._

She frowned, trying to stop the tears from flowing again.

_I couldn't take it. I knew you loved him, but I just couldn't accept the fact that you did. You still do, don't you?_

She didn't respond, but now the tears flowed down her cheeks freely and her clutch on Harry's hand tightened. He didn't feel her hand, but he felt her tears, her inner tears.

_I can feel it, Hermione. I heard you talking to Ron earlier. But this is different... I can feel your thoughts, like they're my own... it's strange to understand how you feel now... yearning for him._

He can feel her love for him, and her bittersweet feelings for Draco Malfoy. And he saw it from her eyes, the way that her feelings for them didn't conflict each other at the depths of her heart. The way she knew in her heart she loved Harry and loved Draco, both, and yet in such different ways. Different ways that she understood well, and yet... even she couldn't let them pass. So she had to make a difficult decision - there was Harry and her life with him, and there was Draco and a future of unknown. There was her best friend and her husband, and there was the man who made her whole. It was empathy to a whole new level... It hurt to feel how she felt, to cry for her... but no tears came to his eyes. His tear ducts couldn't do it. He couldn't even cry. It was most torturous that he couldn't even raise a hand to wipe the tears off her eyes.

He wondered if she could still hear his thoughts.

"I can," she wiped the tears off her cheeks; a little surprised that Harry could feel what she felt too. She glanced at Symon, who was concentrating on passing their thoughts to each other now. It was a strange feeling, like her privacy had been completely ripped from her, and yet it was so relieving to be able to be completely honest for the first time.

_Honest conversation feels good, Hermione. I guess just thinking it makes it easier._

She agreed. But she didn't need to say anything. She knew already that Harry felt it.

_Don't stay for pity, Hermione._

She frowned; she didn't want to hear him say such things.

"You know you're more than a husband to me, right?"

His response was quick.

_Like how he's more than a lover for you?_

She was a little taken aback.

"...Have you always been able to see me through like this?"

And his answer was heartbreaking...

_No... lying here and not being able to say a thing was a... a rough wake up call. It made me listen more closely..._

"Should I train to be a Legilimens?" she smiled as she became teary again. If only she wasn't such a crybaby.

_No, love._ He smiled in his thoughts. _Wish for my recovery. And I... I'll try to be better at expressing myself, with my own voice next time._

She swept his hair off his forehead.

_I did a lot of thinking Hermione. I don't want to keep you from what makes you happy._

"Can you feel this, Harry?" she stroked his hair again.

_No._

But she felt it. She felt his warmth. He was happy to have her with him.

"You will soon... I'll make sure you will," she smiled.

x x x

Hermione stood on the balcony again the next evening, a slip from Draco in her hand. Symon had left and then returned with it, only saying one thing before he quickly disapparated again, "Master will be there."

She read the slip again now.

_Gold in the air of summer. - D._

It was a code for a place, and it wasn't meant to be hard for her either. She knew where to find him.

"So it's tonight?" Layla asked, staring out at the last glint of sunlight on the horizon.

Hermione nodded. Behind them were two long shadows projected along the wood planks of the balcony, one of Hermione, another of Layla.

"You know, ingredients for Polyjuice are expensive these days," Layla joked.

"I'll make it up to you, lovely," Hermione responded with a small smile on her lips.

"That's only if you remember to when you come back, sweetheart," Layla said with a chuckle.

Hermione didn't say anything. Her thoughts wandering through the plan she and Layla had come up with in the past few days.

"Hermione, this might not be the time for this, but..." Layla fumbled her fingers, which was very unlike her. "I wanted to clear this up between us before we go ahead with this."

Hermione shook her head; she knew exactly what Layla was talking about.

"I can't reproach you, Layla. I've done worse... I've hurt him so much," she whispered.

Layla looked at her sadly, "Did you?"

Hermione looked up at her as if Layla was crazy for doubting it.

Layla sighed and got off the balcony ledge, standing next to her, "I don't doubt that Harry's hurt, Hermione."

A pained expression became visible on Hermione's face.

Layla continued, "And it's true, you're married... but was what you did worse? I mean... maybe you wouldn't want to hear this, but what happened between Harry and me... it wasn't love. I just... it's been a while since I've been with anyone. So I -- Well I didn't think about the consequences... and I can't just blame it on the alcohol. I'm really sorry..."

Hermione nodded without a word. Layla sighed, not sure whether she felt relieved that Hermione nodded or felt uneasy that she didn't respond vocally. She continued, though more hesitantly now, "I don't think it had to be Harry for me. And despite that, I did what I did. But you..." her voice was more certain now, "you love him, don't you?"

Hermione knew which 'him' Layla was referring to. But she didn't say a word, didn't move. And she couldn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to answer.

Layla didn't need her answer to know how she felt either; they stayed silent until the sun went below the horizon completely. It was time.

"Let's do this," Layla said, reaching her hand out the way people do when they were expecting something to be given to them.

Hermione pulled out the vial of Polyjuice she had made for Layla, but didn't give it to her yet.

"If he's rough on you, feel free to show him proof that you're a fake," she reminded her.

Layla just nodded, beckoning for the bottle with her hand. Hermione handed it to her.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Layla said as she opened the vial and poured it down her throat, "I'm a pretty good imposter."

Her transformation was slow, but when it was done, the moon was already shining brightly onto them, casting two long shadows on the wood plank floor, one of Hermione, and another of Hermione as well.

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**Author's notes:** The next chapter will conclude Part I (noo). Please write reviews, I really like reading them!


	23. Gold in the air of summer

**Author's notes:** The title is from a song by Kings of Convenience, and the song modified and featured near the end "24-25" is also theirs. Both songs give the right mood to this chapter, so in case you're interested I've posted their links here (remove spaces in links for them to work):

24-25: http:/ anewmorning . xanga . com / audio / 133233872111 /_  
_Gold in the air of summer (live): http:/ anewmorning . xanga . com / audio / 512a83875255 /

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**Chapter Twenty-three: Gold in the air of summer**

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_"Why are you helping her?"_

_"I just don't think what's going on is right."_

_"Damn right, it isn't. She's been cheating on Harry."_

_"I'm talking about my boss, Ron."_

_"He's just doing his job."_

_"She was doing hers."_

_"Yea, but she went from pretend to serious. That wasn't part of her job description."_

_"...I understand you feel like she's betrayed your best friend, but isn't she your best friend too?"_

_"Not for long if she runs away with the Slytherin."_

_"I see that there's not much of a friendship to start off with."_

_"You know nothing about us, Layla!"_

_"Then prove you're still a friend, Ron. Despite everything, trust her. I trust her."_

Someone knocked at the door.

Maxim Moonstone looked up from the mug he had been meticulously wiping for a quarter of an hour now. It was long past closing time. He had been lost in his thoughts while cleaning up his shop for the day, waiting for that very sound of knuckles rapping at the door. Now that someone actually knocked at his café's door, Maxim became nervous. Even when people have known each other for years, Max knew that best friends could become the worst enemy overnight during times of war; he had stayed away from the war for precisely that reason. By now, he had been so far removed from the war, it was difficult to know who to trust and who not to. What if the person on the other side of the door wasn't whom he expected?

Back when he started his quaint little coffee shop at the foot of the castle ruins, Max had wanted his new home to be a place for weary travelers to rest their bones in. That was all. He would have never gotten involved if not for _the boy_.

The boy. Max had known him for a while now- well, in fact, Draco wasn't really much of a boy anymore even back when they first met, but Max couldn't quite get over the impression he had from that evening when Draco first stumbled into the coffee shop. Pale and shaken from his first "mission" as a Death Eater, Draco didn't speak a word when he sat down at the bar. Max remembered how the boy stared blankly at all the different coffee-making gadgets laid out in front of him, shaking his legs in frustration. He didn't make small talk or ask Draco what was wrong. Though the emotional trauma was clearly visible, mindless conversation didn't seem to be what his young customer had wanted then. Instead Max had slid a hot cup of Brazilian cocoa across the bar to him, and Draco had stared blankly at the mug for minutes, uncomprehending.

Max still remembered the bitter smile on the boy's face - the disbelief for his thoughtfulness, the inability to appreciate warmth. Draco had pushed the mug of hot chocolate back at him, shaking his head and standing up to move to a window seat, away from the bar. Most people would have probably scoffed at his rudeness and ignored him by then, but Max instead took to him. Throughout the evening, as Draco quietly sat at the window side, he left him mugs of hot cocoa and changed cooled ones for new hot ones until Draco finally gave in. The boy became a regular of his coffee shop since then. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Draco had taken to Max too since that night.

There was something so haunting about the kid. Even years after, when the boy had clearly grown into a man and had begun to accept his hospitality, Max felt it his responsibility to give Draco the safe space he needed. So when the young broken man asked him for shelter, Max took him in with open arms despite knowing how involved the boy was with the war.

Now Max stood at the bar, wand firmly grasped in his hand and eyes on the window next to the door. He hoped to get a glimpse of the person outside. Draco had mentioned that a young woman might be coming for him, but this stranger outside the door could be anyone, could be a Death Eater. As Max hesitated, the visitor knocked again. They were a little louder than before, though still gentle. He quickly shuffled to the door and opened it with all his might.

The person at the door seemed taken aback by how abruptly the door opened. Standing at the door was a woman about twenty-two or so, with wavy hair and deep round eyes. Max remembered that face well; she was the first friend that the boy had brought to the coffee shop. Draco had never told him about Hermione, but Max didn't need anyone to explain to him that someone who Draco would bring to this place was special to him.

"Thank goodness, it's you... Come in, dear."

"Draco... is he here?" There was deep concern in the young woman's eyes; her voice relayed hesitance and fear.

Maxim nodded and let her in, closing the door behind them, "He's upstairs," he whispered, "He's been expecting you. Though he might have finally fallen asleep by now… I had him lie down and close his eyes."

The second story of the café, which was invisible from the exterior, was Max's home. Through a hidden staircase behind the bathroom, Max showed Hermione up to his guest room where Draco was asleep. She was hesitant to get close to the bed, but Max made it easier for her by going up to Draco first, wiping his forehead with a towel and cleaning up the bowl of broth at the bedside.

"He had a mild fever earlier..." Max explained.

Hermione quietly followed him to Draco's bedside. She took his hand that was lying on top of the bed sheet and sat down on a stool next to the bed.

"Thank you for taking care of him, sir," Hermione whispered, her eyes still fixed on Draco's restful face.

"Call me Max," the café owner replied, smiling as he collected the bowls and cup of tea onto a tray to take downstairs. He replaced the candles on the walls with new ones and left the room, closing the door behind him discreetly with just another glance at the couple. Draco would be fine without him for now.

Hermione didn't notice Max's thoughtfulness until a moment later. She was so transfixed by the fact that she was beside Draco again. She pulled the stool closer to his face and wiped his forehead as Max had done so earlier. If Draco had a fever before, it seemed to have calmed down finally. He was breathing evenly and seemed relaxed. Hermione couldn't explain how relieving it was to see him finally. As she leaned over him to rearrange the bed sheet so it covered him well, her wavy hair casted shadows on his face. He was the same Draco as she remembered him, though she noticed how his usually pale cheeks were still slightly flushed from the fever. Hermione also noted bruises on his jaw and scars on his arms that someone had tried to mask with an injury-hiding spell. The spell was appropriately done but the remaining marks suggested that the spell-caster didn't have enough power to cover the injuries fully. Hermione glanced at Draco's wand on the bedside table. Could it be that he had tried to hide his scars and injuries from her? She recognized those scars and bruises - Layla had similar ones from Bellatrix LeStrange's nasty hexes. Cursed wounds did not heal easily.

She couldn't ignore them. Hermione stood up and pulled out her wand, gently placing the wand tip on a particularly bad bruise on the side of his face. She glided her wand down his neckline and his shoulders cautiously, so as not to hurt him, and whispered incantations under her breath. The bruises and cuts revealed themselves and dissipated or healed as she did so. She closed her eyes now, able to feel the injured spots intuitively without looking.

_I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me most._

An immense sense of guilt filled her as she slid her wand down to his collarbone and his chest now, concentrating on the wounds and trying not to wallow too deeply in regret. She was scared to look further, fearing there were worse gashes that she had yet to see. Over and over she repeated the spells, until she stopped, mid-spell, and opened her eyes. Startled by the hand that had grabbed her by the wrist, she looked up and met Draco's eye. He was watching her intently.

"Don't do that," he said firmly, squeezing her hand as he spoke, "You know very well that the spell rebounds on you."

She bit her lip and took a step back into her seat, almost stumbling. Fatigue had indeed taken over her, especially after healing a particularly nasty gash he had on his upper chest. She knew treating cursed wounds had its consequences without professional training, but Hermione still held her wand up straight.

Draco understood the gesture of defiance and sighed, "They're just bruises and cuts," he said.

She wasn't about to relent, "You can't ask me to ignore them, Draco. They'll only get worse."

He sat up, painfully, though he barely showed it. She could only tell from the way he loosened his grip on her and grasped the bed sheet with a fistful as he moved. She couldn't bear watching him struggle the way he did, and she also couldn't explain the growing lump in her throat as he watched her, the intensity of his eyes. There was so much to say, and yet, neither could begin to voice the aching they had had for each other in the past couple weeks.

"At least let me brew up something to ease the pain," she said, standing up to leave the room. The silence was overwhelming.

"Max is already fixing something up," Draco quickly spoke, as if to stop her from leaving.

"Then I... I'll find something for your fever," she mumbled as she walked towards the door. She couldn't stand the awkward distance. This wasn't the reunion she had imagined- well... what _was_ the scenario that she had imagined anyway? A scene out of a romantic drama? So much had happened in the weeks they had been apart... touching base with reality, the other people in their lives that they cared about. So much numbing down to get through the pain. She didn't quite know how to act around Draco right now, and she needed to get away, even if it were for a few minutes.

Draco didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Despite herself, Hermione heard his silent plea and stopped in her footsteps. She turned slightly to look at him, but he still said nothing, just watching her silently. His eyes scanned her, from head to toe, like he had in the early years of their friendship, except those eyes were less playful and concupiscent now. There was more bittersweetness, and longing, and hesitance. Hermione clenched her jaw nervously and lowered her eyes to the hardwood floor. The room was so quiet; she thought she could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at him again. The bed sheet on Draco had slid down to his waist, revealing the rest of his bare chest. It was surprisingly unwounded. They both felt the tension between them; the desire to get closer, and yet... feeling so far apart. They stared at each other without a word for what seemed like eternity, until Draco finally brought up enough courage to speak his mind.

It was almost a whisper.

"Don't go."

The strange distance between them melted away in those brief two words. He moved his legs off the bed from under the sheets, revealing his trousers and bare feet, and sat on the side of the bed. She moved towards him slowly when he beckoned. Her pounding heart now seemed to be stuck in her throat. She couldn't speak. She felt her lips tremble uncontrollably as she took another step towards him - he saw, and he didn't wait patiently anymore. Taking her wrist again, he pulled her towards the bed. He didn't have to try too hard anyway; she willingly moved to his side and sat down on the bed next to him. Their faces were so close to each other now, she could see the grey in his eyes even under the dim candle light. Hermione couldn't help herself, an audible sob escaped her lips.

"You really came..." he whispered, touching her cheek and savoring the moisture from her tears with his fingertips. He touched her cheeks, so timidly - like a child exploring their loved one's face for the first time - that it made her cry even more. He slid his fingers up her face line, along her forehead and her eyelids, her cheeks, and her lips... everything about her seemed so fragile tonight. Draco wrapped his arms around her and stared into her eyes. Their noses just barely touched each other. Tears were forming on his eyes.

"I thought I'd never see you again."

She gazed back into his damp eyes without a word. She didn't know what to say. He was saying everything she thought she would say when she saw him. Her vision blurred a little with the tears on her eyelashes. And then she gasped softly, for she felt his cold lips kiss her on the cheek. His kiss was so tender that she might have missed it if she had her eyes closed. She turned to him very slightly and he moved his mouth ever so slightly to the corner of her lips as well, bit by bit, with their eyes lowered, until they felt each other's warm breath on each other's lips. Draco lost all self-control at the touch of her quivering mouth. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her wavy hair. Pulling her close by the handful, he pressed his lips fully against hers. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensual touch of his body pressed firmly against hers. It was all that they had wanted to do since their eyes first met tonight - kissing each other like this, holding each other like this.

Tears flowed down their cheeks freely and mingled on their lips, leaving a salty flavor that aroused intense emotions for each other. Her hands found their way down to his waist and up his bare back, delicately tracing every outline of his muscles. He groaned with the gentle pressure she placed onto his skin and his hands too quickly found their way into her tank top. Every inch of her skin was tingling with desire. His soft kisses now trailed up her neckline, to her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

"I missed you so much," he whispered so hotly against her ear, all her muscles tightened in anticipation and quickly relaxed to a point that she was sitting up only because he was holding on to her. "I missed you too," she gasped, turning to look at him in the eye. Their eyes met and his lips found their way to hers again, lavishing her with such fervor, he felt blood rush to his head when she reciprocated. There was such urgency in their kissing; they forgot to breathe until Draco moved down her neck again, kissing her on her collarbone and down her chest. Hermione gasped for her breath as Draco pushed her tank top up to her neckline and continued kissing down her bare stomach. A glimpse of her bra and her naked chest in the dim light sparked such carnal instincts in him, he couldn't help but caress her on her sides towards the front of her body and upwards. That was when he mentally slapped himself and pulled back briefly to check if she was okay with his forwardness. He still couldn't help but admire her. The skin on her chest was slightly lighter than the rest of her body... it was alluring to know he was about to see a side of her that he wasn't allowed to see before. And the way she was staring at him, with such longing... He wanted to go further, as far as she would let him go.

They both caught their breaths as Draco wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. She stood up and sat on his lap as he indicated her to. They kissed again, now more slowly and sensually than before. Dazed and intoxicated by the burning touch of each other's lips, their eyes were only half-open. Hermione's mind was fuzzy, and so was Draco's. Nothing seemed clear in their heads except each other's touch. He slid one hand around her waist and brought the other up to cup her breast.

She moaned involuntarily, almost inaudibly, when Draco slid his hand into her bra cup and touched her bare skin. It only encouraged him to go further and caress her with just enough intensity to make her gasp in pleasure again, audibly this time. He smiled into her lips as they kissed, and she felt it too. She smiled and opened her eyes to see him, to see his pretty eyes staring back at her through half-open eyelids. Her bra straps fell off her shoulders and revealed her breasts in the candlelight. Everything felt so good, so right, and he smiled again, now kissing down her neckline, down her shoulder, slowing down on her breasts, her nipples and then gliding between her breasts to her belly button. She leaned backwards as he moved down her body, slowly falling onto the bed until she landed with a soft thud. He moved on top of her so he was on the bed too, sliding a finger along and down each side of her hipbone on top of her jeans. She shuddered a little in shock as she felt his hands move to her inner thighs, between her legs, where she yearned and feared to be touched. He stopped abruptly then, looking up at her and then moving up to lie down next to her.

"Only as far as you'd want me to go... I don't want to ruin it," he said softly.

"...What would you ruin, Draco?" She asked, sincerely, turning to face him.

He shrugged, not really sure what he meant. "This. Just, this... What's between us. I don't really know what it is, but I don't want to ruin it."

He then went silent in embarrassment. Draco wasn't even sure why he felt so abashed suddenly; he never knew what being embarrassed really meant. But then, this Draco wasn't anything like the one anyone else knew before. He tousled her hair absentmindedly and stared at her curls, averting his eyes from her stare. Now that they had calmed down, Hermione could see the longer scars on his sides that went along to the back of his body. She could only imagine what injuries he had hiding from her view... they wouldn't have hurt under her touch, but she knew from Layla that dull internal pains persisted long after cursed wounds were closed. Hermione watched him until he felt comfortable enough to look at her again.

He could see it in her eyes, the conflicting emotions both at once - the desire and the hesitance. To be with him. To leave her life. Her reality. And he knew the same hesitance showed in his eyes even though neither had started telling each other anything about their thoughts on their past few weeks, their future. He realized what he meant then. Their relationship was like a dream, always like a dream. It disappeared into thin air every time they woke up, without fail. So fragile that he felt like if they made one wrong move... they'd ruin it forever. They'd never dream again.

She saw the look of comprehension in his face.

"I know what you mean..." she spoke softly, as if she too were treading softly over eggshells that was their relationship, "if I can save what we have into a bottle and hold it close to my heart every day of my life... I'd do that. I don't ever want to ruin it..."

He lowered his gaze onto the bed sheets and noticed how wrinkled up they were. The implications for their parting in her words didn't leave his notice. He felt his heart broke again. He knew he'd have said something similar to her too... but it still hurt to hear it.

"I don't want to do anything we'd regret..." Hermione continued, now her voice more timid, "but when I'm with you," she sat up a little, getting closer to him so he'd look at her in the eye. He did.

She continued, softly, "When I'm with you, I feel... I feel scared... that I want your everything," her lips trembled with the honesty of her words and his eyes flickered in understanding.

"I feel like I'm about to lose all self-control, Draco. When you said you only want to go as far as I'd want you to g-'"

She couldn't finish her sentence; Draco stopped her, taking her in his arms and surprising her with a kiss so consuming - all sense of rationality flew out of the window. He was rough and yet so gentle; she was soft and yet so wild. Intoxicating. There was no other way to describe his touch, her skin. And while they both knew deep down they would never have everything of each other, they wanted it, right now, this moment... to give each other everything they had. Their passion, their tears, their love and the warmth of their bare skins, pressed up against each other so desperately. His trousers came off, and so did her jeans. He had unclasped her bra adeptly too and now that was on the floor as well. And the rest of her undergarments, and his boxers... until all that was left were their naked bodies. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. Both charged by an anguish and yearning that saw no end. Tears that blended into endless euphoria from the touch of each other's flesh, the sound of each other's voices - the moaning, groaning and the rapid breathing, with their hearts beating against their chests. And in their ecstasy, they plunged into an untouchable place in their hearts that only belonged to each other, leaving the world behind them and reaching a high, together, again and again.

x x x

_"Why are we doing this in the middle of the night, sir?"_

Colin didn't care to respond to his subordinate, though he did make a mental note of how lazy his underlings had become in the past couple weeks he had been in therapy. They needed some shaking up, some discipline. Well he'd be sure to give them that once this mission was over. He didn't really need to answer the young Auror-in-training anyway, the reason was obvious. It was an ambush; of course Sullivan would want them to do it at an hour where less people would notice. It was almost two in the morning. He took a deep breath from his cigarette and let it fall to the ground, crushing it with his boot into the dirt at his feet. The moon that was shining so brightly hid behind a cloud again, its shadows hiding the pain in his wand arm that he kept low so no one would notice. Nicotine didn't seem to help. He couldn't stop the shivering, or erase the doubt in his mind, for that matter. It was almost time.

_"Gentlemen..." _he spoke with his usual authority, silencing his men, _"Be firm, but don't be too rough on her. She used to work with us."_

x x x

Harry could move his fingers now. Though the full remedy for his paralysis was still under way, Healer Morhorn had brewed up some early treatments for him, enough so that he could feel his fingertips now. At his side, Hermione took care of him daily, wiping his forehead and practicing moving his fingers with him. Harry couldn't think of a time he had been happier in the past couple months. Despite the agony of not being able to move most of his body, he could feel improvement steadily every day now. It filled him with hope, especially with Hermione next to him. She seemed a little more nervous today, he couldn't tell why. He couldn't ask her why either. Since Symon no longer was with them, he still couldn't speak for himself.

The door to his room opened. From his peripheral vision, he could see Hermione returning from her nightly walk. Ever since Harry was hospitalized, she had taken walks to the garden, or the balcony outside, to think, to relax - he knew without her telling him, because she always smelled of summer blossoms when she returned, looking more energized usually. Not tonight though. She smelled different tonight, even though there was still a hint of green grasses and flowers. It was a different but familiar smell. Harry couldn't quite place where he smelled it before. He felt restless. Something was wrong.

"Harry."

She sounded like she was about to say something important, and so he glanced at her, questioningly, though he wasn't sure if she could tell.

She took his hand and squeezed it softly, "I'm about to tell you something now, and I don't want you to freak out about it."

'Freak out' wasn't a word Hermione used often, it made him nervous.

"Do you trust me?"

She knew he couldn't respond vocally, but she still waited.

"Do you trust me... do you trust Hermione?"

There was something odd about the way she just said her name, as if it didn't belong to her.

"What's about to happen might scare you, Harry," she continued, "But don't be... because- " she whispered into his ear, so softly that Harry couldn't believe or even understand what she had just told him.

No, he didn't understand. And when the door to the room was suddenly torn down behind them and men swarmed into the room, he was very alarmed.

"Hermione Potter, you are hereby arrested by the Ministry of Magic."

It was Colin's voice. Harry didn't need to see to know it was his boss here to get his wife. His eyes darted around in panic with all the commotion, and then he noticed, that despite being grabbed quite harshly by the Auror who came up to her and pulled her off her seat, her eyes were still on him. Steady, and relaying just one message. It suddenly became clear to him what she had just told him. What she meant.

Trust me, she had said.

She'll be back, she had said.

And she left.

x x x

Was it just a dream again? A really good dream? Draco didn't dare to open his eyes. He was so sure that the warmth of her bare skin under his arm was real, the soft even heaving of her chest... but what if? He opened his eyes.

She was still there, still lying in his arms, facing him with her cheek pressed against the pillow. Her eyes were still closed. She had fallen asleep. Draco slowly reached up to her forehead and swept a lone strand of hair off her face, trying not to wake her. In his mind he still saw how she had her eyes closed as he moved inside her, her head rolled back in speechless rapture... an erotic bewitching side of her that he had never seen before. He felt his cheeks burn up, thinking about her like that again. It wasn't like it was his first time, or hers for that matter. But it was _their_ first... He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to distract himself, instead he found himself thinking that it was also very likely their last...

She moved in her sleep, curling up closer to him. He looked down and she slowly opened her eyes, meeting his.

"I fell sleep," she muttered drowsily.

He smiled.

"It's the second time I've woken up next to you," he said. She nodded, remembering the last time, pretending to be asleep because she felt scared that what they had would end sooner if she didn't. She stroked his chest along the long scar that went around his back. He knew what she was thinking.

"What happened?" she asked in a hushed voice, so quietly that he almost missed it.

He smiled sadly, recalling. "Night after night. Red and blue flashes. I don't even remember clearly... I could hear my own scream, but it was as if it... as if it came from far away, out of this world-" He took her hand and squeezed it tight, "I forgot time, Hermione. I didn't know how long it lasted until Symon found me. It was- worse than death."

He went silent. _I'd rather he killed me next time._

She put an arm around his waist and held him close. Draco closed his eyes and basked in the scent in her hair. Strands of her wavy locks tickled his face. He loved the way it felt, holding her so close that he could smell her hair.

"Are you going to stay at his side?" she asked softly. Draco opened his eyes as she slowly pulled away to look at him in the face. She saw how he frowned, how he hesitated.

Outside the window, it was no longer pitch black. The soft gleam on the horizon was taking over the deep blue slowly but surely. Hermione realized how little time was left. She sighed and got up to pick up her clothes from the floor, putting them on quietly. She wanted to lie down on the bed forever, next to him, tucked away in his warmth... but she couldn't. There was too much to sort out before sunrise. Draco still had not answered her question. He watched her quietly as she dressed, each piece of clothing falling into place. He could still picture her bare skin beneath the tank top, her curves wrapped up in her jeans, the nape of her neck now hiding under her long wavy hair... He knew her every contour, every tone of her skin, but he also knew that look on her face - the look that he knew he wore on his face too. He watched her until she was almost fully dressed before pulling his pants on too.

"Does Voldemort-" she paused briefly at the Dark Lord's name, still uncomfortable with saying that horrendous name out loud, "does he know you're here?"

Draco couldn't quite understand why he had trouble putting the last button in its place. "No," he answered tersely as he failed again.

No, the Dark Lord had no idea. Draco had technically run away, though he did not intend to hide for long. He just wanted to- wanted to- he stopped trying to button up his shirt, sighing and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked up at Hermione, who had moved closer and was now standing above him.

"I just wanted to see you," he said softly.

She smiled a sad smile. He opened the palm of his hand as she placed her hand in his, squeezing it softly.

"I ran away too," she whispered; he looked up at her, eyes widened a little. She continued, "I knew I shouldn't, but I had to... I had to see you."

He nodded. He assumed she wouldn't leave Potter's side right now, not when he was paralyzed, though he was hopeful - almost _too_ hopeful. He hoped she meant she would run away with him. He hoped, and yet... he knew he wouldn't be able to run away with her either.

"I don't think my uncle knows I've sneaked out here tonight... Symon would have warned me by now if he did," Draco said, glancing at the Dark Mark on his forearm. Hermione turned to follow his stare too. Nothing was over. Draco was still under the influence of the Dark Alliance. A question came to Hermione's mind.

"Where's your mother, Draco?"

Draco's face darkened, Hermione had hit the spot that hurt most. He stayed silent for a while until he gathered his thoughts enough to speak, "She's... a prisoner of her own mind." He thought about Narcissa, and how Rodolphus had locked her away in the Black family's tower for seven days and seven nights without letting her know whether her son was dead or alive, until she lost her mind completely. Or at least, that was how it seemed to Draco, for Narcissa had wholly succumbed to the Dark Lord's power. She would do anything to keep her son alive, and to do that she had decided being her enemy's ally was the only way. Draco explained to Hermione that he wasn't particularly disappointed. He knew his mother never had the same will power as he did.

Well, he wouldn't really consider his position right now a triumph over the Dark Lord either, and in many ways he was envious of those who were free from the evil wizard's personal reach, but Draco also had yet to sell his soul to the Devil completely. The thought of even a small part of him being free from his master's influence kept him alive. The thought of Hermione wanting to see him, as much as he had wanted to see her - that really kept him going.

"I guess we're all part of someone else's scheme," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Draco turned to her questioningly, so she explained further, "I have an arrest warrant against me."

She noticed how Draco's shirt was still not completely buttoned and reached down to button it up for him.

"Thanks."

She smiled and nodded as she leaned down to help him, but then her frown returned as her thoughts went back to her boss.

"Sullivan got Wizengamot approval to retrieve my memories of you from me."

Draco raised an eyebrow, almost looking amused, "Are you going to give it to them? I wished you would," he said sarcastically, "Azkaban couldn't be worse than this," he showed her his Dark Mark again before unrolling his sleeves.

Hermione shook her head as she decided whether or not to button up the last button at his collar. He looked better without it, so she stopped.

"I'm not. I won't let them."

He didn't understand.

She smiled. Draco thought how sad her smile was; it worried him.

"I'll explain later..." she said, her voice trailing away as she turned to look at the scenery outside. There were hints of a dusty yellow mixed with the rich blue of dawn now. Sunrise was getting close.

"Can we go outside?" she asked, turning to him and taking his hand, "I want to go up to the tower again."

He smiled too then and nodded, holding her hand and following her out the door.

x x x

"She wouldn't stop thrashing, sir," the young Auror-in-training pleaded for his boss to take notice.

"Why the hell are you arresting me, Colin!" Hermione continued to scream, pulling her arms out of the Auror's grasp.

Colin watched the way she fought but kept his silence. The real boss was about to be here, he didn't need to be in charge any longer.

The door to the office opened and Sullivan walked in, a huge satisfied grin on his face as he rubbed his hands together.

"Ah, you got her. Good job, Charles. Good job."

For a moment the young Auror was sure that his captive had given up when she saw Sullivan, instead she took him by surprise, stepping on his foot real hard so he let go intuitively. She stormed straight up to Sullivan's face, cursing and threatening him.

"I've been telling your employees here, but no one would listen - YOU HAVE THE WRONG GIRL. I'M INNOCENT."

Sullivan just scoffed, "I can't see why you would think so, Potter. Have you seen your arrest warrant yet?"

She folded her arms before her and shook her head, "I'm telling you, you're gonna regret this."

Sullivan glanced at Colin and winked, though Colin did not seem to find the situation funny. He frowned and grunted, unsatisfied with his right-hand man's indifference.

"I don't think so. I'll go get that warrant so you can read it thoroughly," Sullivan said with triumph, "I'm sure you'd be convinced once we're done here."

The young Auror was dismissed, and as soon as Sullivan left the room, Hermione sat down at the seat before Sullivan's table, looking rather dissatisfied. Colin watched her every move, until he finally decided to test his doubts.

"Who are you."

She turned around in her seat, cocking her head.

He continued, "I've watched Hermione Potter closely in the past two months. You don't fool me."

She smiled, a wicked smile that Colin was sure he had never seen on that face before. He knew now that she was an imposter.

"I knew you'd notice."

"Unlike some people..." Colin muttered, glancing at the door to make sure they were out of earshot, "I'm unassuming."

"And not cocky," she responded with a chuckle, wriggling off her seat and standing up, "Just say what you think, Andrew. There's no need for politeness. I haven't lied a single moment since you've arrested me, but he's way too arrogant to stop and think about it, unlike you."

Colin raised his eyebrows, "So you know my real name. What else do you know? Where the real Hermione is, perhaps?"

She shook her head, that smile of hers still on her face, "Nope. I'm just here to stall time."

"I'm afraid I can't let you," he moved away from the wall he was leaning on, but she was faster. Before he realized what had happened, she had pushed him into the very seat she was sitting on a moment earlier, with her wand tip pressed against the artery on his neck.

"You don't seriously think you can threaten me with this, do you," Colin whispered.

Fake-Hermione seemed rather untroubled, "Oh well, you see. I know more than your real name, Andrew Colin..." she glanced at his hands, "I also happen to have noticed that you're incapable of using your wand arm these days."

Colin couldn't help but gulp a little, "How did you- "

She interrupted, "I know your style. You'd never let others be in charge of holding an important eyewitness, like Hermione Potter, unless you're physically incapable of it. And right now, your wand arm is shaking."

Colin tried to hide his arm under his cloak. He was a man of such dignity; it pained him to realize that even a tiny woman like her was capable of holding him down since his injuries from the battle at Malfoy's Manor.

"Why did you let it happen in front of Harry? You could have stayed outside, on the balcony. I'd have done it without scaring him if you did."

"Harry knows. I've told him," she said bluntly, "Maybe you should be more worried about yourself right now."

Colin had to agree.

"What do you want?" he tried to keep his pride in his voice. Maybe it was time to negotiate.

She stated her request clearly, "Sunrise. All I need is for you to keep your mouth shut till then."

"You realize you're assisting the escape of a felon, right," he said, hoping this imposter had some sense in them. She didn't seem like a Death Eater. In fact, Colin was pretty sure by now that this girl (or guy, actually) worked in the Department of Secrecy. She knew too much.

He could see her face, and suddenly, she looked sad.

"You're wrong... sir," Layla-in-Hermione's-disguise whispered, "She's not running away."

x x x

"You're sure about this?"

The real Hermione and Draco sat on the ledge of the tower together, staring out at the horizon where the outline of trees and birds were becoming visible. They had talked about what she planned on doing during their walk to the top of the tower, and neither was sure that it was the best idea- Well, they knew it _was_ the best idea, though neither of them_ wanted_ it to be.

She shook her head and he held her closer.

"We don't need to decide till sunrise," he whispered.

"I wouldn't do it if I were leaving with you..." she said, "But I've made him so miserable," Draco knew she was referring to Harry, "And now he's hurt because of me... I can't leave him."

Even though he knew he too couldn't leave his mother right now, and even though he had known all evening that she would say those words, it still hurt to hear it from her lips.

"I want to make him happy... I owe him so much. And yet..." She looked up into his eyes with such sincerity; it touched him. It was so painful how it touched his heart.

"There's nothing that could replace what we have, Draco. So much so that I can't even think of it as an obligation, even though I owe you so much too."

The sound of his name on her lips - she loved it. She wanted to say it over and over again, before she forgets it forever. There were tears in his eyes. She hadn't been able to see earlier when they made love to each other, but now, the tears were clear in the growing sunlight. She had never seen him cry before.

"Draco, I don't want to lose you... I don't want to lose us."

"Me neither…" he wrapped his arm tight around her, taking her chin with his other hand and pulling her face closer to him, "You make me happy, Hermione... Even when you say things that hurt so bad... you still make me happy. I didn't know I was masochistic."

She smiled, gently bumping her forehead onto his, "You do come off as a sadist."

"I know," he chuckled.

Hermione wondered how they managed to make such light-hearted jokes when their hearts were so heavy. She cuddled up to his chest, hearing his heartbeat. Draco lowered his eyes to look at her.

"What was it like? Reading each other's minds?" he asked, wondering how it would be like to hear each other's thoughts now. He was asking about Hermione's conversation with Harry through Symon. Draco imagined it to be strange, to be in someone else's head. He imagined it to be intimate too, so intimate that it scared him a little.

"It wasn't like that... it was more like, he was in my mind, and I was in his," she explained, remembering the intimacy she felt with Harry through the experience, "It was like he was thinking my thoughts, and I was thinking his. It was... overwhelming."

Draco tried to imagine it and sighed, "I wish I could be one with you like that."

She glanced at him and he smirked a little, glancing back at her, "And yes, I meant both emotionally and physically."

He said it just to make her blush, and she did, just as he expected. They didn't need to read each other's mind to feel the strong connection between them.

A murder of crows flew by, making noises that made the two of them look up. The sky was turning light blue now, fading into a spectrum of pale yellow on the horizon. It was almost time.

"Can I make a request?"

She turned to him.

"If you're going to have someone erase your memories of me... I want to be the one to do it."

Her lips parted in protest, but he didn't let her interrupt.

"I don't want anyone else to taint our memories. I want to keep it between us," he took her hands lovingly, his last words barely above a whisper, "... forever."

Her lips were still parted, but she closed them now, understanding the sentiment behind his request. How could she ask him to erase him from her memories? And yet... she didn't want anyone else to do it either. Hermione had a few people in mind that would do the Obliviate charm for her and execute it well. She was going to ask Layla, but Layla had a handful with just swindling Sullivan. So Hermione turned to Ron, who, after much convincing, agreed to help her. He wasn't happy that she wanted to see Draco for one last time, but he kept his dissatisfaction to himself after much persuasion from Layla. Ron would have agreed to anything as long as Hermione promised to stay with Harry.

She finally gathered courage to speak, "...Will you?"

Draco nodded gravely. They went back to staring at the castle ruins below them for a long while, until he finally decided he was brave enough to execute the plan. He got off the ledge to stand behind her.

He pulled out his wand, pointing it at her temple. Hermione closed her eyes and waited. She waited, and waited... but Draco couldn't do it. He stood there, the incantation at the corner of his lips, and yet...

"I couldn't say it."

Please don't say that.

"I can't, Hermione. I can't do it."

I can't erase us.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the stone floor, a bug was crawling near her feet. The sky was bright enough now for her to see the little creature, though it was still quite dark. Still, she didn't turn back to look at him. She didn't know what to say. She didn't want him to erase their memories together either. Draco stared at the back of her head, wishing she would turn to look at him... hoping she wouldn't actually turn to look at him. He didn't know what expression he should wear on his face if she did.

He sighed and placed his wand next to her. She glanced at the wand as she felt him leave her. She could hear his footsteps now, walking down the staircase and stopping there. Maybe he needed a moment alone; she glanced at his wand again, taking it as a gesture that he would return. But his moving away didn't stop her from feeling empty inside.. A futile relationship that they were about to seal away. And she'll leave him the burden of remembrance, knowing she wouldn't even remember the tears they shed together tonight - How could he do it? How could she ask him to?

Hermione had her head buried in her hands when she heard a pop behind her. She turned around, apparently Draco had disapparated earlier when he left and had now returned. In his hand was something she hadn't seen before - a small glass vial sealed with a cork, like one of those they used so often in Potions classes.

She looked up at him inquisitively, so he explained to her, "I have a different idea."

He took her hand, placing the vial between their hands. "We'll seal it here instead, so even if you forget, you'll never really lose it," he said, "I'll keep it for you."

She understood now. But still-

She looked up at him, her hand squeezing the vial as she spoke, "I want to ask you one more time... are you sure you want to do this for me? I know it's partly to protect you from the Ministry... but this means I won't remember. The next time we see each other-"

He nodded, "I want to be the one to do it."

She turned the empty bottle in her hand and looked at it for a long while before looking up at him and handing it back to him.

"No one else. Just you and me."

He nodded and smiled, taking the vial from her. He then reached inside his pocket and pulled out something small for her.

"Keep this for me in return," he said, taking her hand and slipping a silver ring onto her fourth finger, on top of her wedding ring with Harry.

She raised her hand to look at the carved symbols on his ring. A stylized carving of a snake, barely recognizable.

"There's a dragon carved on its inside too."

Like his name, Draco, the constellation of a dragon.

She said so out loud, and Draco grinned, "No one else would be nerdy enough to recognize the connection like you do."

She smiled too, but then her smile faded when she realized she wouldn't remember it was from him after today. He saw the change in her face and shook his head, a heartbreaking smile on his face as he squeezed her hand with the ring on it.

"It's okay, Hermione... I still want you to have it."

_She'll be gone soon, you can  
Have me for yourself _  
_He'll be gone soon  
You can have me for yourself_

He pulled her closer for one last kiss.

_But do give  
Just give me today  
Or you will  
Just scare me away_

"One more..." he whispered into her lips, unable to pull away from her. She pressed her lips against his too, again, and again...

_What we built is bigger  
Than the sum of two _

He took her hand and slipped the ring off her finger. She watched him as he pulled it through a delicate silver chain and placed it around her neck.

_What we built is bigger  
Than the sum of two_

"Keep it close to your heart."

She nodded with a smile and took the ring in her hand, looking at the dragon so closely as if to burn it into her memory, with the hopes that it would defy all logic and stay in her heart. She felt herself tearing up, but she didn't let herself. She didn't want him to see her cry again.

_But somewhere  
I lost count of my own _

She looked up at him one last time before turning away and standing against the ledge, the ring still in her hands.

_And somehow  
I must find it alone_

He picked up his wand and unplugged the bottle, pointing his wand at her temple once again. His hand trembled a little as he muttered the spells under his breath. Hermione looked out into the horizon. In the morning rays, through her tears, she saw the golden meadows, undulating in the early summer wind.

She remembered how they met at the Opera House, the way his hair was dripping with rain.

She remembered how they walked among castle ruins, holding hands right here, on the tower that now would mark the end of their love.

She remembered dancing in his arms through moonlight shadows, their brief kiss.

She remembered their mud fight, their bashful shower together, drying their hair with warm towels as they lay down on his bed... talking about everything and nothing.

And their one night together, tonight... his bare skin, his lustful voice, his smile, his anger, and his sadness. All their memories, all her memories of him...

A delicate thread appeared at the tip of Draco's wand as he gently guided her memories into the glass vial. She closed her eyes, her consciousness slipping away. Draco held her as she fainted. He watched her sleep, knowing the Hermione in his arms would have no recollection of him when she would wake... and he cried.

And though their lives would now part, there was one thing that would remain in the morning glow. Their memories, glistening... glistening in the morning gold.

_22 and blooming like the fields of May  
23 and yearning for a ticket out_

_Dreams burn, but in ashes are gold  
Dreams burn, but in ashes are gold..._

_

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_

**Attention readers: Please review! **That was the end of Part I. I really enjoy reading your comments, they mean a lot to me and **they'll really motivate me to write on**, especially now that we're at a turning point for Draco and Hermione. Hope to hear from more of you before the next part! - M. (8th April, 2010)


	24. Interlude: His heartstone

**Author's notes: **Thank you for all the lovely reviews! A little shout-out to all of you who added _A new morning _to your Favourite/Alert lists as well! It's embarrassing to say, but I cried too writing the last chapter. This chapter and the next takes place some time between the previous chapter and Part II, with a couple new characters that will become important later. I thought the interlude would be a nice segue into the second half of the story :)

* * *

**Interlude (I): His heartstone**

* * *

_"It was as if there was a void in my heart. I cried in my sleep sometimes, for no reason whatsoever, mourning for something or someone that I couldn't remember. It was unbearable."_ - Hermione Potter nee Granger

_"I noticed the ring instantly, but I didn't ask... never explained fully either when she asked what happened in the two months she had lost. Till this day I'm not sure if it was for my own benefit, or for hers."_ - Harry Potter

_"There she was, still beautiful and unchanged, as if she'd walked out of an agonizingly vivid dream. I had to leave; I don't know what I would've done if I didn't."_ - Draco Malfoy

"What can I offer you, sir?"

Draco took note of how the bartender was friendly enough without being annoying, and sat down at the bar. The restaurant was dim in a welcoming way, and there weren't too many customers. This might just be the place he could take his mind off her, off everything.

He leaned onto the counter with his upper body and cleared his throat, "Fire whiskey... on the rocks. Thanks."

"I didn't know Malfoys cared about thanking people."

The voice was familiar, familiarly annoying. Maybe he had picked the wrong bar to sit at.

"Potter," Draco said between his teeth, even before he had turned around to see his school years nemesis standing right behind him with a frown on his face.

"What a pleasant surprise," he added with a snort. Neither had really seen each other since Hogwarts, the last time Draco had seen Harry... well, that was in the dark alleyways of Knocturn Alley. That doesn't count.

"Pleasant my ass," Harry replied just as acidly, sitting down next to him. The bartender returned with Draco's drink.

"I'll have the same, please," Harry said to the bartender, distinctively nicer than he had been to Draco. The bartender nodded without a word and swiftly picked up Harry's empty glass in exchange for a new full one.

Draco raised an eyebrow then, "I don't remember inviting you to sit down, or has my memory failed me?"

Harry poured the full shot of fire whiskey down his throat, "It isn't _your _memory that has failed, Malfoy."

His sarcastic reference to Hermione was blatantly clear; Draco's bitterness almost prompted him into saying something nasty in reply, but Harry surprised him by pulling out his wand and pointing it at the blonde's face. The bartender's nose twitched ever so slightly; he didn't appreciate bar fights during his shift. Draco, on the other hand, composed himself as if he wasn't concerned and reached for his wand, but Harry pointed his up close enough to Draco's nose for him to think twice before reaching into his sleeves.

"You know and I know what you are, and what you're capable of," Harry raged quietly, "I'm just making sure you don't get a chance at it."

So this wasn't about Hermione, or maybe it was. Draco knew it would always be a little bit about her between them; that was for sure. In fact now that he had mentioned it, it was clear that this familiar foe with jet-black hair and dark green eyes was eyeing his concealed arm under his black cape and his long-sleeved shirt.

"Potter, just 'cause I'm a Death Eater doesn't mean I don't go out for a drink."

Draco turned his eyes back to the bar and ignored the paranoid Auror. He took a swig of his whiskey and it went down his system like a fire in his stomach. _Merlin, that was strong._

"Just stop terrifying the bartender for a moment and leave me alone," he added lazily, rocking the ice in his glass. And when Harry snorted in response, Draco snapped back just as bitingly as Harry had been a moment ago, "And I certainly don't care what_ you_ think of me or what_ I'm capable of_." He knew how his jibing infuriated Harry and he chuckled a little, finishing his drink in one go. He placed the glass back on the bench with a clunk.

Harry passed his empty glass back to the bartender as well, who quickly swept them out of sight. The bartender, whose nameplate at his chest said that his name was Jacque, seemed a little relaxed now that Harry had returned his wand into his jacket pocket. Draco noted how well Jacque was dealing with the knowledge that there was a Death Eater sitting at his bar, even though it didn't escape his notice too that the young man's face had paled just a little.

"I can arrest you right now, you know," Harry muttered under his breath. Jacque the bartender raised an eyebrow subtly.

Draco snickered again, "Have you always been this talkative?"

"What can I say, I was a little bored lying in a bed like a vegetable for four months."

"You _were_ a vegetable, Potter," Draco corrected him.

Harry seethed, "You know I'm not jinxing you with a binding curse right now only because- "

"So it is about her?" Draco asked, daring to turn and stare into Harry's eyes.

The green eyes he saw were apprehensive.

Harry thought about how he had gotten here, and why on earth Malfoy was sitting in a bar in the middle of Paris... Well, no. Harry _was_ looking for the Death Eater, but certainly not at _this_ bar, not at _this_ moment. He shuffled uncomfortably and thought back to only a few days ago, back in his flat near Diagon Alley...

x x x

"Great... Puffy eyes again," Hermione muttered as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Harry remembered how she splashed her face with cold water from the sink, even though she knew it wouldn't make her eyes less heavy. Sighing, she reached for the swell-reducing cream she had made personally, and gently swabbed some onto a piece of cotton before covering her eyes with the soothing remedy. The swelling subsided and she looked at herself in the mirror, looking substantially more presentable, though it took a little more effort to remove the frown on her lips. Soon she was ready to go to work again like any other day.

She no longer worked for the Ministry. When she came to from her coma, she had no recollection of why she had left them, or why they were after her and her lost memory. She woke up next to Harry in Saint Mungo's, terrified to find that her husband was paralyzed. Healer Morhorn felt bad for her for having to go through the grief a second time, but he couldn't give her any useful information on the couple months her memories were lost; he simply didn't know enough. The best he could do was fill her in on Harry's condition, and that she had been watching him for the past couple weeks without rest. He assured her again that Harry would be fine, and instead tried to sooth her by telling her to focus on her own condition.

It just made her more nervous about her memory loss.

Hermione eventually learned that Sullivan had fired Harry for inadequacy out of vengeance. He was furious with her when he found that she had humiliated him in front of all his staff. Layla was in huge trouble too for impersonating her. Unfortunately, Hermione could only recall her as Harry's co-worker and no more, even though she felt a strange affinity with the young Auror-in-training. The Wizengamot declared the case ridiculous, and it was only when Ron stood up for them with evidence that he had collected ahead of time that they were able to prove Sullivan had compromised the Potter couples' safety and was treating Harry unfairly. Layla was relieved that there was indeed friendship between Ron and Hermione despite all that had happened; in fact, he became very protective of her since. Sullivan was demoted without further questioning, while Colin moved to the top to replace him. In a more administrative position, Colin no longer needed to worry about his wand arm, and surprisingly, the trembling had subsided. Harry returned to his position as Auror soon after his physical therapy was complete, and Layla finished her official internship as well after a two-month probation for insubordination, finally becoming a fully certified Auror.

As for Hermione, she had left all that behind and moved on to work for a research institution in the middle of London.

"A muggle university?" Harry had asked with his eyes wide when she first told him where her job offer came from.

"Yea, isn't that great? I didn't know there were wizards working at London universities, and ones studying magical-creatures like house elves at that! They're hiring me as a research assistant. I'm really excited about the job."

"And you'll get to commute from home this time," Harry reminded her, smiling as he said so.

She had smiled back genuinely, Harry remembered. After a long-grueling fight with his paralysis, they had sat down to talk about their future, and they both decided living together was the best idea. Ron was ecstatic to hear that his friends had finally come to their senses. The three spent more time together now, often including Layla and Ron's sweet and motherly wife, Jenny, as well. Hermione's job turned out to be what she could have ever hoped for. Everything seemed to be going well for her. She was happy. Happy and yet...

She often woke up in tears. Harry had woken up in the middle of the night many times, only for him to shake her until she woke from her screaming and crying. Despite it all, Hermione could never remember what she dreamt about that hurt so much. In fact, Hermione was sure that she never dreamt anymore.

She knew it had something to do with the memories she had lost, but she couldn't place what they were, or why she had lost them. She was told it happened for a good reason, and that she shouldn't worry too much about it. When she did some research into it, all she learnt was that there was a man her age, an aristocrat with the name of Malfoy, with whom she had went to school with - even was Head Prefects with - that she couldn't place in her memory.

She was working for the Ministry to spy on him. What happened then? She could barely remember what kind of a boy he was in school. But when she asked Harry, or any of her friends for that matter, for more specifics, they avoided the question and mumbled incomprehensible nonsense until Hermione changed the topic. Ron in particular warned her that Malfoy was an asshole and that she shouldn't waste her time remembering the filthy rich ferret.

She didn't get the reference. She had no recollection of Draco Malfoy whatsoever, or of those two months. What was she doing? It was like an invisible wall, blocking her from something that must had been important enough for the Ministry to go after it. She couldn't stand it. She thought about what she could have lost, all the time, but she stopped talking about it to anyone, even Harry. Everyone was trying to move on; she didn't want people to know that she couldn't sweep it all under the carpet and do the same.

It had been a year and a half since. As Hermione travelled to work on the train that morning, three days before Harry and Draco's encounter at the bar in Paris, she read a muggle photo magazine with a special series on religious ceremonies. She noticed photos of people with dark grey markings on their foreheads- Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Hermione wasn't raised in a religious family, but she had learned such Christian traditions from friends in the neighborhood where she grew up. Ash Wednesday was a day of repentance, of contemplation and reflection. There was something affecting about the dark grey powderly cross. She thought of where the ashes came from. How did they become sacramentals? What was sacrificed for them?

_—What did I sacrifice my memories for?_

It was a question she often asked herself.

The research lab that Hermione worked in was disguised as part of the muggle biology department at one of the colleges in the University of London. "Conservation Biology" said the doorplate. She slid the door open and walked through, greeting some of the early birds of the department as she walked to her advisor's office.

"Good morning, Professor Squillerthorn."

"Skiller only here, Ms. Potter," the elderly professor said without looking up from his microscope.

"Hermione, Professor," Hermione said with a smile. It was their usual morning squabble. She closed the door behind her. "How are the critters looking today?"

The professor looked up finally and smiled. He was a wise and kind gentleman with deep wrinkles on his forehead and a trimmed white beard. Professor Skiller was a well-known conservation biologist that studied endangered critters in salt marshes across Europe; but among some, he was also the renowned Professor Squillerthorn, a wise wizard who was a firm proponent of rights for underprivileged magical creatures. Of course, his muggle peers had no idea.

"It's hard to have muggle professionals take my real name seriously, Ms. Potter," he said, taking his spectacles off and wiping them with a clean cloth.

"I promise not to call you with your real name in public if you promise to call me by my name, Professor," she responded as she pulled out her wand and flicked it at the coffee maker in the corner. The professor's favorite South African coffee began brewing.

She was insistent, and Professor Squillerthorn had been impressed with her largely because of that trait of hers. That, and her ingenuity in general. She was certainly smart enough to figure out on her own that Professor Skiller and Professor Squillerthorn were one and the same. He was surprised and even amused by her strong interest in house elves, which were often a taboo subject due to their close association with pureblooded aristocratic families. He did something he hadn't done in decades—he took her in as his student and treated her almost like an equal.

"There's a letter for you, Hermione," he said, calling her by her name now.

She turned to her desk, which was neat and well organized as expected of her. A letter lay on the empty desk space.

"Maybe your abstract got through," the professor added with a wink before turning back to his work desk.

Hermione's eyes lit up, and she quickly _accio_ed the letter to her hands. Sure enough, it was sealed with the crest of POMCA, which stood for Protection of Magical Creatures Association. The professor pretended to readjust the magnification of his microscope as he too waited anxiously for her to get to the content of the letter. Hermione ripped the envelope open. Her fingers trembled a little as her eyes darted back and forth on the letter; she read the first line over and over again. And then she squealed and threw her hands in the air.

"You made it!" Professor Squillerthorn shrieked happily, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

"We made it, professor!" she exclaimed in equal excitement and gave her boss a hug. They looked down at the letter together again, proud of what they've accomplished:

_Dear Hermione Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your abstract has been ACCEPTED for a presentation at the 2003 POMCA Annual Meeting in Paris, France. Please note that the Annual Meeting will be held from Friday, November 10 to Monday, November 13. All individual presentations are between 6 and 7:30PM. Please plan to be available at these hours. Unfortunately, we cannot consider individual scheduling requests._

_You can view your abstract by using the revelation charm, and you are welcome to make changes at any time before the Annual Meeting._

_Abstract ID#: 24830_  
_Abstract Title: "House elves slavery and their relationships to aristocratic secrecy"_

_Congratulations on your acceptance. We look forward to your participation at this event._

_Take care,_ _Serrali Fizengard_  
_Program Coordinator, Protection of Magical Creatures Association_

"This is perfect, just perfect, professor," Hermione whispered, her face radiating in happiness, "And this is really good timing too. Harry will be in Paris for work this weekend."

Squillerthorn wiped a happy tear off his cheek with his handkerchief, "I am very impressed, Hermione. This is a very controversial topic you will be presenting. It will shake academia to its core." There was a magical twinkle in Professor Squillerthorn's eyes. If he had been hiding his magical ancestry, it wouldn't have worked right now.

"Thank you, professor. I couldn't have done it if you weren't willing to take me under your wing. The Ministry wouldn't have allowed such a study under their jurisdiction after my case with the Wizengamot."

It was true, it was a dream come true for her. She can finally publish her work, and despite all that she had forgotten from her encounters with Draco and Symon, she had been going back and forth Hogwarts for more research since. If her work were to be accepted by her academic peers, she can finally begin a serious conversation with the Ministry to change its policy of "don't see, don't tell" with the abuse of house elves.

The proud professor nodded with a smile, agreeing too that his decision to take her was possibly one of the best he had made in recent years, "Maybe you can hand this in as your T.O.A.D. thesis as well."

T.O.A.D., which stood for Tremendously Outstanding and Advanced Dissertation, was the equivalent of a doctorate in the muggle world. Hermione had missed her opportunity earlier due to Sullivan's manipulation of her career. Maybe that can change now.

x x x

_All aboard!_

"I'm so glad for you, love, but I'm still not sure if it's a good idea for us to go together," Harry said as he huffed their luggage onto the train to Paris.

_All aboard!_

"Nonsense," Hermione responded without a concern as she picked up another bag from the platform and handed it to him. Harry put his hand on the handle of the bag, but didn't take the bag from her yet; he looked into her eyes solemnly, "It's dangerous, Hermione."

He was still uneasy with the idea of going on a business trip with his wife, especially since this trip involved tracking down certain Death Eaters that he really didn't want her to see. There wasn't really a Death Eater he'd ever wish she'd see, but this one, _this one..._ he would really rather avoid.

"Rubbish, Harry. We've been through enough dangerous situations together for me to be scared of a Death Eater or two. Besides, this is my dream come true. Just enjoy this moment with me, will you?" Hermione chirped happily as she hopped onto the train with him, "Who are you trying to track down, anyway?"

Harry pretended he didn't hear her as he piled the bags onto a shelf. Hermione noticed his silence and frowned. Ever since she lost her memory and moved on from the Ministry, Harry had become more secretive with what his job entailed. She knew it would be a futile struggle for her to question him more about this time's mission. Instead she moved into the train coach and looked for empty seats.

"When are Ron and Jenny coming?" she started a new conversation in hopes that he'd stop being such a party poop, "Ron was pretty excited to spend the weekend without the kids."

Harry brightened up a little with the mentioning of company who would keep Hermione distracted from his job during the trip, "We'll meet them there. I can't believe they could just throw everything aside like that and decide to go away for the weekend."

Hermione chuckled, "Isn't it great? It means they're still in love after two kids and four years of marriage. I'm so happy for them." She hooked an arm around his and leaned onto his shoulder, humming a happy tune. Harry leaned onto her head too. As the train sped through the British countryside he watched her reflection in the window and smiled. It had been a while since he had seen her this happy and he didn't want that to change too soon.

After many hours of reading, napping and discussing where to go for the evening, they finally arrived in Paris. At the train station, the Potter couple bumped into someone neither had expected to see in a very long time.

"Zabini," Hermione gasped at the well-dressed gentleman who was standing in line to go through the station's gate.

Blaise Zabini turned around, eyebrows raised in suspicion with the mentioning of his name. Once he registered the owner of the voice and saw the other former Gryffindor, Blaise's eyes narrowed quickly, though he slipped his wand back into his sleeve.

"Wellwell," Blaise had the most infuriating slur, "Isn't it the Know-it-all mudblood and her pathetic Boy-who-happened-to-survive-everything."

Harry had been surprised at seeing Blaise, like Hermione, but his eyes narrowed too as soon as the former Slytherin's words spilled out of his nasty mouth.

"You're still rude as ever," Hermione replied with a sigh, placing a hand on Harry's arm to calm him.

"And you're still the same patronizing Head Girl. Nice to see you again," Blaise chuckled; a little amused at the way she was easily handling Harry Potter's temper.

She smiled at his sarcasm that was really just Blaise Zabini's way of greeting people, and greeted him pleasantly as well, though Harry was still skeptical.

Blaise and Hermione were never really friends, but they had always been on relatively good terms with each other despite being in rival houses. Blaise still remembered her playful banter with Draco at Hogwarts until the two fell through. He had been openly amused by her skillful manipulation of the Slytherin Head Boy. Her balanced use of tactful and frank remarks definitely reminded him of those days.

"So what graces your presence here in Paris?" he asked flirtatiously; Blaise really did enjoy pissing Harry off.

"It's none of your business, Zabini," Harry huffed, taking Hermione by her arm to guide her away from the annoying Slytherin. He spotted Ron and Jenny outside the gate waving at them and signaled to Hermione that they should go.

Hermione nodded at him and gestured for him to give her a minute with Zabini, "I'm here for a POMCA conference for a few days, you?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tapped his shoe against the pavement as he waited. He would have walked away if he wasn't uncomfortable with Blaise being so friendly with her.

Blaise grinned, "I live here, Granger. I was just back in the UK for business. I'm surprised you didn't know, I thought you always knew everything."

She frowned at him mockingly and he chuckled in response.

"Well, I'm not going to take too much of your time from your crazy jealous husband," Blaise said, glancing at Harry, who had obviously heard him too. Blaise took her hand and kissed it, which surprised her, and then he bowed at the two of them before disapparating from their sight.

x x x

"Guess who I saw just now," Blaise said as soon as he apparated into a modest but stylish two-bedroom apartment in another part of Paris.

He had the most ridiculous grin on his face; Draco thought he had gone silly.

"Who," Draco asked uninterestedly, diving back behind the Daily Prophet that just came in through the owl that morning. He picked up the cooling mug of coffee from the table for a sip and almost choked at Blaise's reply.

_"WHO?"_

"Hermione Granger. Have you forgotten her? You know, frizzy-haired crazy Know-it-all? The Head Girl? I mean, her hair wasn't frizzy anymore; in fact she looked kind of stunning in her own smartass Prefect kind of way. Potter was with her too, he was mad jealous when I kissed her hand goodbye. Said she was going to some kind of conference in tow—What is wrong with you?"

Draco had completely zoned out into his own thoughts, but he quickly snapped himself out of it, "I know who Hermione Granger is, thank you. I was just... surprised."

Blaise wasn't one to not notice when someone was flustered. His attention to details often gave him the opportunity to deride others, and this certainly wasn't one he'd pass over.

"Merlin no... you're in love with her still."

Draco nearly jumped off his seat to stop Blaise from finishing that sentence.

"What do you know," Draco gritted through his teeth. He was sure he had never told this cocky Slytherin of Italian descent what happened almost a year ago. He sipped his coffee, calmly this time, mumbling to himself how awful it tasted.

Blaise flopped down onto his usual seat at the sofa and folded his arms in front of him with a smirk on his face, "Dude, it was so obvious. You were all over her until she started ignoring you. In fact, might I say, even _more_ so when she _was_ ignoring you."

Draco sat back into his seat, a little relieved that Blaise had not actually known about his adulterous relationship with Hermione, but also a little annoyed that Blaise had seen through him so long ago, when even Draco himself was not aware of his own feelings for her.

"So? Are you?" Blaise pushed on, leaning forward in his seat now.

"Am I what."

"Don't play stupid, I'm asking if you're still in love with her," Blaise nudged further.

He certainly knew how to push all the right buttons.

Draco just snorted in response, picking up the Daily Prophet to faze him out.

"You can never be honest about anything," Blaise huffed, sitting back into his seat with a pout like a spoilt child- correction, he_ is_ a spoilt child.

"Says the guy who didn't tell me until last month that you had essentially killed my old man," Draco muttered from behind the Daily Prophet.

"Hey, you know I didn't want to have anything to do with it," Blaise protested, "He was hunting me down—"

"For your heirloom that the Dark Lord wanted, and your grandpa sent his muggle friends, yes, yes," Draco finished his lines for him impatiently.

"It's true," Blaise continued, "I know you don't like the idea of a muggle getting the upper hand over your old man, b—"

"I don't care, Blaise," Draco ended the conversation there.

For the first time, Blaise let him. He knew Draco did, in fact, care. He cared enough not to make it clear to the press that the Dark Lord hadn't killed his father. Till this day, Draco didn't understand the power of gunfire, and how a muggle managed to kill his father, who had been quite a skillful wizard in his days. Dark, but skillful nonetheless.

"They were part of the mafia, Draco. It's not like they were commoners," Blaise added.

"You really can't shut up, can you?" Draco sighed, putting down the newspaper.

"I'm just saying. Your old man's death isn't something to be ashamed of."

Draco stared at him in silence. Blaise usually never got uncomfortable around Draco, except when he gave him the silent treatment, like right now.

"Alright, man. I'm sorry," Blaise gave up.

Draco went back to his papers again, flipping the pages now.

In fact, it did make Draco uncomfortable that he felt ashamed for his father's death. His values had changed significantly when he fell in love with Hermione, who questioned his concern for people's ancestries. It still shocked him that Lucius was killed by someone who couldn't use magic, though Blaise had tried to convince him multiple times that guns were a good match to wands for their speed if you didn't expect them to be. And Lucius certainly never even imagined that a muggle could be a good match to him.

"She was pretty," Blaise muttered absently.

"Who?" Draco didn't follow.

"Granger," Blaise said; Draco didn't miss the smirk in his voice.

"So?"

"SO?" Blaise got hyper again, "Don't you want to see her?"

Blaise was surprised when he didn't respond, even though he was clearly not ignoring him. In fact, it almost seemed like Draco was lost for words.

After a long moment of silence, Draco spoke finally. Blaise's ears perked up.

"What did you say she was here for?"

Blaise grinned. As far as he knew, this was the first time Draco had shown concern for the opposite sex any more than just as a date to show off on his side.

x x x

The annual meeting of the Protection of Magical Creatures Association. It sounded exactly like the kind of conference Hermione would go to. It didn't take much effort for Draco to figure out where she could be. He was sure it was a horrible idea to go. What would he do even if he saw her anyway? It was likely that she had no memory of him whatsoever. He had suppressed her memories quite thoroughly. Blaise was thrilled to know that Draco still had feelings for his Hogwarts crush, but Draco was simply wretched. A year had passed by since he and Hermione parted. He had deliberately chosen to leave the country by suggesting to the Dark Lord that he would look for the heirloom that Lucius had failed to recover. It was too painful to read headlines on the Daily Prophet about the Potter couple, and seeing their loving photos together as they won the case against Sullivan. And so he fled to France like a runaway. That was how he found Blaise, but instead of returning with the Zabini heirloom, Draco decided to befriend exactly the person he was supposed to kill and rob.

He might have done things differently if Narcissa were still by the Dark Lord's side. Instead, she had finally listened to him and came to France with him. Their obscure relatives in France had promised to keep her hidden, and Draco had pretended since that he had lost his mother, and that he was still failing at finding the Zabini heir. He knew his facade wasn't going to hold for long, but the Dark Lord had been occupied by the war front in Britain. Draco was out of reach for now. Out of reach, and yet still within reach if the Dark Lord wished too. So he still lived in fear, often wondering whether there was a way out for him.

That day, in the rising sun on the castle ruins, the moment Hermione fainted in his arms... he regretted agreeing to any of it. To erasing her memories, to leaving her for his mother, to letting her go back to her life. No, he wanted to be with her. To hold her close. To tell her how much he loved her... he never told her.

Draco came out of his trance only to find that his determination to stay away was too weak. He had taken a detour anyway, walking right by the convention center where the conference was held. He slowed his footsteps as he walked by, secretly hoping that she'd just walk- Merlin, he felt like a stalker. He took a sharp turn around the corner and crossed the street. No, he refused to act like a fool. She would not even recognize him. It would be painful and he would be tempted to force her to remember. And she would, that was how the spell worked.

She'd see him, hear his voice and the spell would be broken. That was the release to the spell that the Ministry never figured out. They were mad pissed. But so what if he knew one thing more than they did? He'd be miserable again when he realizes that he was the only one clinging on to their memories. She had obviously moved on with her loving husband. Subconsciously he reached to the chain on his neck, touching the cold bottle of golden swirl that rested at his chest. He stopped his footsteps in the middle of the pavement, allowing people around him to push him by. She remembered nothing, and he remembered everything. Everything, and he still held on to everything she didn't remember.

He looked up to find that he was standing next to a restaurant with a bar. This might just be the place he could take his mind off her, off everything.

x x x

Harry couldn't believe his eyes when he first saw who had just walked into the room. He was waiting for Hermione to finish her meeting with her advisor in a restaurant across from the convention centre, and in strolls Draco Malfoy, exactly the man he was looking for, and exactly the man he didn't want Hermione to see. It was too much of a coincidence. Now they were sitting next to each other; their conversations just as biting as it had been five years ago. Nothing had changed. They still hated each other, they still loved the same woman. Merlin, he needed more alcohol to get through this; and Harry had only started quitting his horrible drinking habits six months ago.

"So what are you doing here? You must have known she's here," Harry asked, his suspicion barely concealed.

Draco glanced at him. Well, that's obvious. But he'll lie through his nose anyway.

"What, I can't drink at a bar in the city I live in now?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, "So you admit that you live here? You know the Ministry's been hunting for you, right?"

"Congratulations then," Draco said with a sneer, he took another shot of whiskey and ordered a tequila shot.

Harry frowned, "Malfoy, I'm not here to arrest you."

Draco raised his eyebrows now, "Really, I'm surprised. Everyone else seems to be."

"I see you're not even trying to make me hate you less," Harry said, placing his hand down on the counter. His frown burrowed deeper into his forehead.

"Are you saying that you actually care about me, Potter?" Draco was so bitter, so annoyed that the one guy he didn't want to see, other than the Dark Lord, was sitting right there, intruding his personal space.

He was ready to push every button he can think of to drive him away, "As far as I know, we've been rivals since we first stepped into Hogwarts. We've hated each other's guts for as long as I could remember, and it certainly doesn't help that we're in love with the same woman. I find it hard to think that you wouldn't just arrest me for messing with your wife even if I weren't a Death Eater-"

"You can stop there now."

Harry's voice was cold. He could barely contain the seething anger within. Jacque the bartender considered clearing the counter so there wouldn't be any hard object within reach of the two men. He was learning way too much about their personal lives than he needed to know. But Harry was more rational than either men imagined.

"I was sent here to find and arrest you."

Draco snorted an I-told-you-so.

"Don't think you're so smart just yet."

Draco didn't respond, just took his tequila shot. He wasn't feeling it yet, but it was close.

"So I hear you're after another aristocratic heirloom?"

Draco glanced at him questioningly, "Really, where do you get all these classified information? We must have so many loopholes for you to spy on us. I guess you were even ready to send your wife—"

"Malfoy, just stop trying. You're not going to make me mad even if you tried," Harry stopped him mid-sentence again. He was certainly containing himself pretty well so far.

"Really, Potter?" Draco turned to him now, amused, "Should I consider that a challenge?"

Harry thought it best to ignore him, instead he asked another question, "Why are you after heartstones?"

Draco almost dropped his glass. This man knew too much.

"It's none of your business."

"He's collecting them, isn't he? Voldemort."

Draco cringed at the name of his master. Potter was too cocky, too ready to tackle the ancient dark wizard head-on.

"That attitude of yours would cost you one day, Potter," he hissed.

Harry ignored him and pressed on, "Where's yours, Malfoy. Where's your heartstone."

Draco didn't like how Harry's tone suggested that he wasn't even asking a question.

"_It's none of your business_, Potter," was the best he could do. He just hoped his attitude was forceful enough for this meddlesome Auror to stop asking him questions.

Harry stared at the Death Eater for a moment longer. He noticed the creases between the young man's eyebrows, the scowl on his lips. Draco Malfoy looked more worn out than he had remembered. Harry wondered how he looked to other Hogwarts graduates that he hadn't seen in a while. Did he look older? Happy? Tired? He knew he was the more fortunate one. Draco might not have known the pain of losing his parents until the year before, but he was afterall, an unwilling Death Eater. At least that was what Hermione had told him during those two months she was spying on Malfoy. She willing rid her memories of him, and cried almost every night for him even though she didn't remember him. Harry knew he could interpret it as that Draco had hurt her feelings badly. But he knew that the opposite was true. He hadn't forgotten the intense experience being inside her mind. She had loved him deeply, and he had loved her just as fervently. Harry hated him for it, but he also couldn't get rid of the lasting imprint of Hermione's love for Malfoy in his mind ever since that connection was formed between them. It was a lasting bond. And Harry hated Draco even more for it.

"I'm not telling anyone about tonight," Harry announced, quite bitterly.

Draco raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"But you have to promise not to see her," Harry continued firmly, "ever."

Of course.

It was an exchange Draco should have expected of him.

"And I won't tell anyone where your heartstone is," Harry added, almost as if he were dropping an unimportant detail in this conversation.

Draco's eyes widened, understanding what Harry knew. He knew, and yet he claimed that he wasn't going to do anything about it.

"But you work for the Minis—"

The bell at the door tingled and Draco stopped mid-sentence. Harry looked up, his eyes widened. Draco's back was to the door but he could see from the way Harry stared at the door and glanced at him that his fears had come true. So that was why Potter was so nervous. She was supposed to meet him here.

Draco didn't turn around. He wasn't sure if he had frozen because he knew she was in the same room as he was, or because he was waiting for Potter to turn back towards him. And when Harry's eyes finally scanned back to his face, Draco saw the unspoken words in his eyes.

_You should go now._

* * *

**Author's notes: **Cliff-hanger! Well, that chapter ended up being filled with playful (and not so playful) banter. I think I've been waiting for Harry and Draco to go at it for a while now ;) Next chapter- Would Hermione remember? What is a heartstone? **Please review!**


	25. Interlude II: His heart, her stone

**Author's notes: **A special thanks to Cassidy, Clementine and Deevee for your sweet reviews (check your inboxs for replies if you haven't yet)! Gods, I can't possibly keep Draco and Hermione apart for any longer. How did I manage to make their love so painful to write?

Here's the rest of the Interlude. Enjoy. - M.

* * *

**Interlude (II): His heart, her stone**

* * *

Draco sighed and passed the empty glass back to Jacque with a few galleons more than he needed to - an extra tip to the bartender for his discretion. He didn't even look back at Harry, just pulled on his hood and stood up to leave. Even though he didn't intend it to be an exchange for his freedom tonight, Draco did agree that having Hermione see him right now would be a bad idea, or at least, unbearable even for him.

Hermione had just walked into the restaurant and was looking around for Harry when she noticed the man in the hood. She froze, realizing that he was a Death Eater. There was no mistaking it, he was wearing the characteristic dark robes. Even though the French crowd in the room seemed oblivious to the implications, any British person would have been able to recognize a Death Eater in their hood and their cape from a mile away. She palmed her bag where the wand was poking onto the fabric, but he walked pass her, not even seeming to acknowledge her existence.

It tortured him, to walk right pass her, to not even be able to reach out to her. He could sense her fear even from under his hood. Time seemed to slow down as he glanced at her. She didn't recognize him. But of course, his face was hidden in the shadows. Her hair was tied into a bun on the back of her head and she was wearing formal clothing - she must have come straight from her conference. Draco noticed the strands of wavy hair that framed her face... just as alluring as it was more than a year ago. Nothing seemed to have changed, and yet, he felt the infinite distance between them. His stomach wrenched when she glanced away from him in discomfort. It just wasn't fair; it took him all his effort to look away from her. The door opened about ten steps away from him as another customer walked in. The cool autumn breeze swept in, and in that moment he caught the scent in her hair. It was a light jasmine scent, certainly not the fragrance he remembered her to wear. Some things do change.

His rich marine scent hit her like a wave with the wind and her pupils widened. Flashing images suddenly filled her mind - fields of yellow flowers, summer rain on her skin, the hem of a twirling red dress, familiar laughter from a charming husky voice and strands of blonde hair dripping in the rain - but they dissipated so quickly that she didn't even have time to gather her thoughts. The hooded man had already left the room. She turned around, lingering onto a strong nostalgia that she couldn't quite place. She forgot his scent as soon as it hit her.

"Hermione."

She turned around absently and saw her husband at the bar, looking at her. What was that expression on his face...? He looked sad.

"Harry," she exhaled, "I just got here. Who was tha—"

"Hm?" he turned away from her and rocked the ice in his glass with a distant look on his face. He looked utterly unconcerned, though he shuffled uncomfortably.

"The hooded—He looked familiar."

Harry shrugged, and before she could push further, Layla burst through the door.

"SURPRISE!"

"Layla!" They hadn't expected her to be here.

And Ron and Jenny arrived behind her as well. "It's as if we've never left home, guys. What's the point?" Ron joked.

Jenny gave Hermione the warmest hug, "Dear, you look so pale. What's wrong? How was your presentation?"

Hermione barely heard her question. She got lost in Jenny's dark tresses as she received her motherly hug. _What was it? Something about the man who just... What was that familiar cologne that he wore? _Hermione tried to stay focused, "Oh... oh it's not till Sunday. I just met with my advisor and his close friends," her mind stayed with the hooded man and the strange affinity she felt to him, or someone that resembled him.

_He really did look like a Death Eater. Or was I wrong?_

Her hand subconsciously reached up to the ring on her neck. Harry noticed, but didn't say a thing. He just went back to his alcohol, knowing then that she had remembered something. A chill ran up his spine. _If she had seen his face earlier..._

He was startled when Layla slapped the glass out of his hand.

"Hey, I'm pretty sure we banned you from alcohol for good," she demanded.

The remaining liquor spilled onto the counter and Layla apologized to the bartender hastily for making a mess. Jacque was just happy that the intense atmosphere earlier was over.

"I behaved," Harry answered laconically. Jacque almost snorted a laugh but contained himself. That would be inappropriate.

Layla frowned at Harry's strange attitude, but she didn't say anything just yet. Either way, soon Ron was demanding so much attention from all of them that Harry and Hermione had to catch up with their friends. Nobody messed with a hungry Ron Weasley.

Outside, Draco had quickly hid into an alleyway when the rest of Potter's company arrived. After he was sure that the Weasleys and Layla had not noticed him, he discreetly went up to the restaurant window and looked in. He knew he should have walked away by now to be safe, but he simply couldn't bear to. She was at arm's length only a moment ago, and now...

He saw her reach up to touch the ring on her necklace and Draco thought his heart would stop. She still had his ring. _Did I trigger some memory in her just by walking pass her? Did she remember—_

He turned away; he had to leave. It was simply way too much take.

x x x

"Hermione?"

A concerned Professor Squillerthorn tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh! Oh... Professor, I'm so sorry," she came to finally after the third time he called her name, and apologized profusely in embarrassment, "I was lost in thoughts."

It was the second full day since she had been in Paris, and they were in the middle of a lecture until a moment ago. Now the lecture had ended and Hermione was still sitting in her seat as though she was listening to some nonexistent lecture. Everyone else had gotten up to leave.

Squillerthorn smiled kindly and patted her on the back, "It's good to work hard, but you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping well?"

Usually she lied when he asked the same question. Indeed, Squillerthorn often asked her about her sleep patterns because of her puffy eyes in the mornings. She had forgotten her hand-made cream this trip. Instead of her usual cheerful reply, she shook her head. She didn't feel like lying today.

The professor almost seemed relieved that she was being honest with him.

"You should get out of these dusty lecture halls for the day. You have free time until later tonight... why don't you go take a walk? Your presentation isn't until tomorrow."

She nodded and accepted his kindness. There were optional lectures they were going to during the afternoon, but in her dazed state she certainly wasn't going to absorb anything useful right now. Instead she noticed that she was a little hungry. Harry was working for the day, so she decided to look for a restaurant on her own. She wanted some alone time right now anyway.

x x x

Some time earlier, Draco had left home for a walk too to avoid Blaise's machine gun-like interrogation. Draco found his roommate way too excited about his love life. Despite how close he had become with Blaise these days, he still didn't feel like sharing his innermost thoughts with him. Hermione was truly an exception. He had very few friends he trusted enough to pour his heart out to.

The unfamiliar scent in her hair, and her hand on her chest turning his ring—images of her from the night before were stuck in his mind; her scent was so vivid still. He cursed himself when he found that he was standing in front of that same restaurant again. It had only been last night that Potter had warned him to stay the hell away from Hermione for good. And here he was, already where he might just run into her. He walked closer to the restaurant window, remembering how he had stood at the exact same spot last night when he thought that she might have remembered something about him. Draco drove that positive thought out of his mind for the umph-time that day. He didn't like being hopeful, especially when disappointment was imminent. Having tasted that burning pain so many times with his hopes to leave the Dark Lord, he had enough. It was a wonder why He had let him live after what happened with Hermione. Even his seemingly safe state right now worried him. He'd almost rather get it over with and stay as close to danger as possible. Better know you're doomed and accept it than hope for something and not get it. That was his policy. And yet, his heart doubted his viewpoint constantly. He missed her badly.

After being lost in thought for a while, Draco found himself still staring at the restaurant window. His eyes wandered to a poster taped onto the glass.

"An enchanted trail, huh," he reiterated the words on the poster absentmindedly. It was advertising a group of hiking trails in the woods just outside the city that led to something called the Wall of Confessions.

"Sounds phony enough."

A bell tinkled and the door to the restaurant opened. A young man's voice came from within, "It's actually a very nice trail, sir."

It was Jacque, the bartender from the night before, "Hi."

Draco greeted him with a wordless nod.

"I'm sorry, you just seemed so transfixed by the poster. I thought you might want to know more about it."

The bartender was overly apologetic in a way, though it was subtle. Draco could only imagine all the thoughts that had been going through this stranger's mind during his verbal grapple with Potter the night before.

"So," Draco decided to act like he was unaware of the bartender's unease, "Wall of Confessions? Sounds oddly religious."

Jacque smiled, "You sound skeptical."

Draco snorted a laugh, "Not really into theology here."

"Neither am I," the bartender shrugged, "You might still like it, it's a very... therapeutic walk. I recommend it."

Draco wondered how much of Jacque's recommendation came from his knowledge of Draco's unrequited love life.

Nah, he said to the bartender as he walked away. But then, he glanced at the poster one too many times. Jacque noticed, but he didn't say anything this time.

x x x

Hermione wasn't sure why she chose this place again. There were plenty of diners around; she didn't need to return to the same restaurant for another meal, two days in a row. But there was something about it. Something about the man from last night...

She was certain that Harry had noticed the hooded man. A sharp Auror like him couldn't possibly miss such an obvious sign of danger. And yet, when she confronted Harry that night after dinner, when they were alone in their hotel room, Harry acted like he had no idea what she was talking about. But his eyes told her that he was lying, and she was close to flipping out on him. There was too much that he was hiding from her. It killed her inside to have to figure it all out on her own. Harry didn't seem to enjoy hiding things from her either. It bothered her. Bothered her so much that she almost raised her voice at him during their argument.

But she didn't. Instead she internalized her anger and went back to contemplating why her husband and her friends all wanted to hide her two months of lost memory from her. She ordered a sandwich mechanically; she was so lost in thoughts that she barely registered the waiter serving her.

_He was a_ _Death Eater..._

It reminded her of Draco Malfoy, the missing piece in her memory. Who was he to her? Both Harry and Ron seemed particularly displeased with him. She was Head Prefects with Malfoy, and the fact that even that part of her memory was missing... It was simply odd. She must have interacted with him one to one all through her seventh year, in some form or another. They shared a common room for Merlin's sake. And then apparently she had seen him, last year, and yet somehow she couldn't recall a single thing about him. Every time she tried too hard, her head hurt. She'd get drowsy, as if there was some mechanism that prevented her from remembering. It was frustrating, and she was getting a little dizzy right now.

"Here's your sandwich, miss."

Hermione realized she was rubbing her temples rather obviously. She sat straight, trying to look proper and not irritated. She certainly didn't want the waiter to think that she was dissatisfied with his service already.

"Thank you, ... sir," she glanced at him, and, for the first time, noticed he was the bartender from the night before, "Oh, hello again."

Jacque smiled at her friendly, as if it didn't bother him at all that she hadn't noticed him before, "Here for the conference? I heard there's one at the convention center this weekend."

She smiled, "I'm surprised that you know. It's quite an obscure group of scholars actually."

Hermione might still be fervently in love with her area of study, but she had learned not to impose on others her knowledge as she had in her younger years. She had learned her lesson being too bossy and snobbish around people. It scared them away.

"Taking a break from meetings and lectures, then?"

She smiled again, "Yes, I..." she frowned a little, remembering her problems, "I've just been so... distracted... I felt it'd be impolite to stay."

Jacque regarded her sympathetically.

"You did look a little lost in thoughts earlier, miss."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." She took it as that he was offended.

"No, that's alright," he waved his wand and sent her a warm mug of herbal tea, "This is on the house. It might help you relax."

She felt so welcomed. Hermione felt that he'd be a good person to ask about possible plans for her afternoon, and so she did. Jacque was about to answer except another customer needed to place an order. He excused himself for a moment; while Hermione tried the tea he served her.

It was exactly what she needed at that moment. She felt warmer and much calmer. Jacque watched her from his bar counter as she ate. He was sure now - she was the woman the two men were fighting over just the night before. He noticed the ring on her finger, and also noticed the hiding bulge at her collar - the other ring - the one that had her distracted all night long during dinner with her husband and her friends. Jacque didn't like being meddlesome, but there was something so affecting about the way she looked. The way she looked so... sad. He wasn't sure what else he could do for her other than being hospitable.

She seemed to have finished her meal, so he got up from his seat to clear the table for her.

"Uh... Jacque," she said, looking at his nameplate and then his face.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly as he swiftly removed the empty plate from the table.

"Do you have... more of this?" she pointed at the empty teacup.

He grinned and nodded, "Certainly."

He soon returned with a new pot of tea for her. She looked like she was about to fall back into her trance; her hand had moved back to her neckline, turning the ring again.

Jacque decided he could ask about it. He was curious, after all.

"Is that from your husband?"

Hermione looked up in surprise and then looked down at the ring on her necklace and back at Jacque's face.

"Oh, no... Well, I actually don't know where it's from," she undid the chain clasp and showed him the ring on her palm. He dared not touch it, though he got a close look when she turned the ring for him to see. "I think I've had it for a long time though... You see the swirl?" She pointed at the symbolic carvings on the ring, "Sometimes, I think it looks like a snake."

Jacque's eyes shined a little. He thought about the man in the cloak the night before. A snake would fittingly describe him. He noticed that she seemed distracted again. Quickly, he summoned something that he wanted to show her earlier before she could get lost in her thoughts once more. Hermione looked up at him inquisitively.

He slid a map across the table to her, "You were asking about places to visit earlier..." he said, showing her directions to what looked like a nature reserve outside of the Paris metropolis, "It's about an hour ride from here."

He flipped the map around to a close-up of a forest, "I recommend this walk," he drew a line along a trail with a thick red marker, "the breeze is nice and the trees are turning shades of red just right now." He drew a big cross at the end of the trail.

Jacque winked at her as she took the map in her hands, "I think you'll like this place."

x x x

_"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in."_

_Enchanted trails_, the trail sign said on top of the quote that caught her eye first. It was a thought-provoking line. Hermione could vaguely retrace to the man who had said the quote almost a century ago. Possibly an American naturalist she had read somewhere. Jacque was right; the outdoors was good for her.

She looked up at the trees and their wavering red, orange and gold before her, and sighed. The woods were breezy and relaxing. She looked at the cross that Jacque had drawn at the end of the trail on her map. On the backside she found a description of the location he had marked off for her - Wall of Confessions - the short paragraph below the name was strangely enigmatic:

_"An exposed serpentinite boulder for those who are looking for a serene location for personal revelations and conversations. There are countless trails that lead here. All solitary, but none stays the same."_

She soon understood the meanings between the lines. The forest moved around her as she slowly strolled through the woods. The whole place was enchanted so you'd never meet a soul during your walk. It was, truly, solitary. For once, Hermione felt like she was allowing herself to enjoy her surroundings without a care for time. She listened to the crackling of dry branches at her feet, the crisp sound of dried leaves as they danced around her. The birds chirping somewhere above, and the gentle wind in her hair. She untied her hair and allowed them to flow freely behind her, just like her thoughts, flowing freely without her worrying about bothering the people she cared for—

—A serpentinite. Draco had not read descriptions of the place on some silly map, but he knew the rock well enough to recognize it with close inspection. Draco's knowledge of botany and mineralogy was extensive for someone who didn't choose to pursue a career in Potions, but he certainly wasn't a top Potions student at Hogwarts for nothing. The mottled green glaze was easy for him to distinguish from other viridescent minerals. It helped too that he had a strange affinity to the almost milky, glazed surface of the towering boulder before him... like the scales of a snake, smooth but lamellar. And the locals called it the Wall of Confessions. Do people confess here? Like in some religions, where people confess to their gods? Maybe they believed in a deity that lived beneath this silky surface... He touched the rock; it felt cold and slippery, like him. He kneeled at the foot of the boulder, overcome by pain - the pain of not being able to share his grief with anyone. He had come here in the end for some time to himself, despite his show of indifference to Jacque earlier.

_It hurts so bad._

He tried to vocalize his thoughts, but it came out in a broken whisper.

"It hurts..."

And yet.

"I was a coward, wasn't I? I didn't do it for her..." he looked up at the outcrop before him, as if it'd speak to him if he stared long enough. It looked mountainous from his angle.

"I did it because I was scared, you know... It wasn't out of some bullshit charitable reasons. I was just scared of change. I found the one thing that- that made me happy, and I slipped out of it like melting ice in her hands... and went right back to my old life."

_I gave up my one chance to change things._

He knew he was a fool—

—When Hermione saw the glassy green tower of rocks at the end of her trail, she knew this was the place Jacque had wanted her to see. Its magnificence took her breath away. The deep and intricate green reminded her of the scent the hooded man at the restaurant was wearing- she couldn't explain why. She palmed the rock lightly, as if it would melt at her hands, though she didn't understand why she felt that way either. It felt pleasantly cold. Hermione closed her eyes and pressed the side of her face onto the smooth surface. There was something so stirring about the way it felt on her skin, she felt like she could stand there forever—

—"I wish I told her," just how much he loved her. Or maybe he didn't. He hadn't lived up to his feelings for her, why should such powerful words be worthy of his lips? It would be disrespectful to say them out loud, ever. But he knew even that wasn't true—

—She opened her eyes, startled by the voice she had heard—

—He knew that he had indeed loved her, loved her enough to let her go. He raised his fist, angered by himself. "Everyone else moved on..." he glided his hand along the rock surface, "Why can't I?"—

—She was certain now, though the voice was strangely metallic, as if it came through a medium.—

—His hand dropped without purpose, and a deep sigh escaped his lips as he turned around and leaned his back onto the cold surface. He didn't mind the dust on his trousers from the earth, his eyes wandered among the wavering trees. He felt foolish for feeling sorry for himself. He had chosen his own path; there was no one to blame. _It's so oddly beautiful here. Beautiful in such a sad—_

_"Hello?"_

Draco nearly jumped at the voice. He looked around, but there was no one there. In fact, it almost sounded like the voice came from behind him, from within the-

_"Anyone... there?"_

His eyes widened, positive the voice was indeed coming from within. Their voice had a peculiar sheen to it too, in a really unnatural way.

"Who are you...?" he asked, a little uncomfortable with the idea that, whoever it was, they most likely had heard his profession.

Hermione was surprised to hear the other voice speak to her. _So they could hear me too._ She stumbled with her answer, suddenly anxious to disclose her real identity to a stranger.

"Just visiting... I didn't expect to see - or hear, in this case, I suppose, anyone. I'm sorry if I disturbed a... private moment."

She felt a little embarrassed, though it was nothing like how embarrassed Draco felt. He felt his cheeks burn at what this random person might have heard. He didn't move from his spot, back still against the boulder. Somehow he felt like if he turned around to the rock he'd come face to face with the trespasser, and he really didn't want them to see his face right now.

"Does my voice sound metallic to you too?" she asked again, a little more timidly this time.

He mumbled a yes, now understanding that his voice was changed too, like theirs. _Well, that's one good thing. _At least they wouldn't be able to tell immediately who he was. Not that anyone in the middle of the French countryside would recognize him, but it was always good to be cautious.

Hermione on the other side also sat down on the dry leaves at her feet, thinking to herself that this might be the 'personal revelations and _conversations_' that the map description was talking about. The other person was obviously not expecting a conversation here, but there was a certain anonymity to the way their voices travelled across. Unless she stayed near the rock surface his voice was almost a whisper. She leaned onto the rock, thinking back to what she had heard him say earlier. He was a man - a wizard, right? There was something about the way he spoke that suggested so, though Hermione wasn't sure. _He sounded like he's in such pain..._

"I couldn't move on either..." the words escaped her lips before she could think too much about what she was saying.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her words. She had heard him. Why he thought she was a woman— well, that was beyond his comprehension. It was just a hunch.

"What are you moving on from? Or _not_ moving on from... I guess," he asked, not sure how much he was ready to engage in conversation with a stranger. Draco was tired to the bone - not physically, just... emotionally - he didn't mind the company, as long as they never found out about each other.

She looked up at the clear sky and wondered how she'd word it. Saying that she had lost her memory just sounded so... obscure, to a point that it'd seem like a lie. Well, why did that matter anyway? It wasn't like she was trying to gain his trust... or was she?

She tried an honest but vague approach.

"Something pretty drastic happened to me and my husband a while ago... Everyone around me's... trying to move on, but I can't. I feel like..."

_A burden._

He thought he heard her unspoken words.

"How long have you been married?"

_Was he married too? _"It was our third year anniversary a few months ago."

"Congratulations?" _Maybe she's about my age._

His questioning tone made her wonder too.

He took her silence as a no. _Were all women unhappy with their marriages?_ He thought about Hermione. Was she unhappy before they saw each other at the opera? Probably not. Was she unhappy now?

"What's bothering you?" Draco had no idea why he bothered to ask, but he was starting to feel strangely sympathetic towards this stranger he couldn't see.

She picked up a dry branch and drew circles on the ground near her feet.

"Secrets..." she answered, realizing that was the real problem with her and Harry, "and they build up. It's like... you have to tell one lie after the other to protect the ones you said before." It wasn't just Harry. She lied too, so he'd stop worrying about her.

"Doesn't sound very healthy to me," Draco commented.

He was sure Potter had a lot to hide from Hermione. How was he to explain why he was sitting with a Death Eater at the bar without arresting him? Or what happened in the two months she had lost her memories even though he was definitely there with her?

"It seemed necessary at the time," she said, trying to justify her reasons, Harry's reasons.

Draco was thinking back to the same jealous man's threat-like words the night before.

_"And I won't tell anyone where your heartstone is," _he had said.

Huff. Draco looked at his fingernails absent-mindedly, scratching them against each other. It would be so easy for Potter to take his heartstone if he wanted to. Draco thought about what his invisible friend from over the boulder had just said.

_It seemed necessary at the time._

Why was it necessary for Potter to keep the location of his rival's heartstone a secret?

"Are you married too?"

Draco looked up to the sound of her voice. He had forgotten for a moment that she was still there.

"No," he answered, "why?"

He might as well be, according to rituals anyway. He thought of his heartstone again.

Hermione shrugged, "I just wondered whether you'd understand if I explained why I think it was necessary."

"To lie?"

She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her, "Sometimes... you lie just to get along."

Just so everything stays the same, just so nothing drastic needed to happen.

Draco frowned, "That's dumb."

She frowned too now, a little offended. Words spilled out of her mouth even though she didn't really believe them, "Maybe you don't get it, but when you want to keep things the way they are, sometimes you have to smooth the wrinkles and move on."

"But you're not moving on," he pointed out.

She went silent. Draco was quiet too, thinking how he was a hypocrite for criticizing her. He himself had been living his life the exact same way. He wanted to apologize for jumping down her throat, but he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts. He thought of Hermione. Did she feel that way about Potter too? Suddenly he was curious about the woman on the other side of the boulder again. There was something so familiar about the way she spoke that made him comfortable talking to her. _Probably because we'd never know each other anyway-_

"Do you love him?"

She was quite surprised by his question. Hermione watched the wind blow a cascade of red and brown leaves off the trees and thought about it quietly.

Draco noticed how there was no answer from the other side. He didn't prompt her. He knew what that silence implied.

The longer she waited to answer, the less she wanted to speak up. She loved Harry, but something was stopping her from saying it. And something else flashed through her mind, a fragmented memory she couldn't place—

_"—you love him."_

_She felt blood drain from her. The carpeted floor felt wobbly under her feet._

_"Do you love me, Hermione?"_

The scene dissolved into nothingness quickly.

_When was that? Who was it?_

"Have you heard of heartstones?"

Hermione's head jolted upwards at the sudden question. _This guy must either be really scatterbrained or not used to communicating with others; he's so abrupt._ She didn't blame him though; she was quite distracted herself. Hermione had also forgotten the metallic quality in her new friend's voice and was a little unsettled by it. _Heartstones? Sound familiar..._

Taking her hesitance as uncertainty, Draco filled her in, "It's the most important thing to a man... I'm sure your husband gave you something similar on your wedding." He pointed at his fourth finger on his left hand, as if she'd be able to see, "You have your wedding ring on you?"

She looked down at her ring finger and the ring that Harry had given her three years ago. It was a simple platinum gold band, but she was sure it was worth thousands of galleons. In fact, it was one of the Potter family's heirlooms that Harry had found in Gringotts not long before they got married. He thought it appropriate for her to have it. It was a simple ring but there was weight to its significance. Hermione wore it all the time.

"I do," she answered, turning the ring slowly on her finger. His question took her mind off the strange moment of recollection earlier that she failed to register.

Draco smiled. Not a lot of young couples wore their wedding rings these days. She might even have a _real_ one at this rate.

"That's the modern replacement for heartstones... though wedding rings are only symbolic. Barely a handful of families still go through the full ritual."

He noticed that he didn't say "only 'pureblood' families" as he would have if it were his old self. For whatever it was worth, Hermione did change him for good.

She listened to his words attentively, though she still didn't understand, "How are heartstones different from normal wedding rings?"

Draco smirked to himself, "Well... first off, they don't need to be rings."

His thoughts went to Hermione, who would have probably looked up books and books about it by now if she were on the other side of this boulder listening to him. In fact, Hermione _was_ frustrated that she didn't have a library at her arm's length right now. All this new information had miraculously managed to take her mind off her problems for the moment.

"Tell me more," she said eagerly.

He smirked again. _Just as insistent as her_, he thought.

"It's a long tradition of binding family heirlooms to the eldest sons. The longer the heir binds with the stone, and the stronger a wizard he is, the more powerful the heartstone. Eventually it binds with his soul."

Draco's thoughts went to his hearstone again. He thought of Hermione and the way she smiled at him when he gave her his ring. Did she know what it really meant? It was more than just a symbolic gesture for him...

"When the time comes..." he continued, sighing a little, "the heir can choose to give his heartstone to the one he loves. It's a... risky move, because if the stone gets in the wrong hands—"

It can destroy him.

She was silent, taking in the weight of his words. Her eyes were still on the ring on her finger, but her other hand crept up to her neckline—

"How do you know if you have someone's heartstone?"

Draco raised an eyebrow skeptically and sat up, "What, didn't your husband tell you?"

_Well, I guess if she didn't even know about hearstones in the first place—_

"Please tell me," she asked urgently. Thoughts were running through her mind at insane speeds. Her hand clenched around the ring on her neck now. What if...?

He was quite sure that she couldn't possibly have one if she didn't know. No man would ever give their life and soul to someone without telling—_Well, I guess I did exactly that myself._

He sighed, "_Exorior amores._"

"Pardon?" She didn't hear him well.

Draco leaned onto the cold surface again and repeated, "_Exorior amores _is the spell. Just point your wand at the ring."

Hermione pulled out her wand and did as he instructed her to. She tried it on Harry's ring first.

"..._Exorior amores_."

Her ring glowed a little with her first try. She tried again, and it glowed a little more. She thought she saw a clear stone appear on the ring, like a diamond that lacked luster.

"Well? What color is it?" The voice on the other side of the rock sounded curious, almost impatient.

"It's… a clear glow," she could only say. Her ring changed back and forth between a simple golden band and a flashing stone as if it couldn't make up its mind.

Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement, "You have an immature one then."

"Immature?" The ring turned into its original appearance and stopped flickering; Hermione placed it back on her fourth finger.

"Yea, did he ever wear it before you got married?"

No. It was locked up in Gringott's until Harry got it for her on their wedding. It made sense. Harry didn't learn anything about family traditions from his parents because he lost them, before he could even speak. It wasn't surprising then that his heartstone was immature.

"That's probably why... It's too late for him to bind with it now."

Draco thought that her husband must be from a well-off and powerful family to have an heirloom that could have been a heartstone without the heir ever having to wear it. Most heirs had to wear theirs by the age of three so they could bind properly by the time they grow up. Her husband's obviously didn't bind properly, but it was still impressive that it even glowed.

Hermione on the other hand was distracted by her other ring. She unclasped the delicate silver chain and took the ring in her hand so she could see it clearly in the sunlight.

_"Exorior amores."_

Nothing happened.

Draco heard her chant the spell again. _Why was she still trying?_

"You need to mean it," he advised anyway.

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions. She thought about what the words meant. 'Exorior' was Latin for 'To appear', or 'To come forward'. 'Amores' was obviously a variant of the word for 'Love'. _Amore. _For love to come forward. She had to mean it.

She closed her eyes. Her mind was blank, erased of thoughts. The memories she couldn't access. The subconscious that rejected her constantly. How could she mean it? She didn't remember how the ring came to be, or whom it belonged to. But what if... Her mind conjured a photograph of Draco Malfoy that she had found among her old Hogwarts things. He was probably 17 or 18 in the photo, much younger and scrawnier than he would be right now—

Suddenly, the same scent she smelled the night before came back to her mind. A scent with such depth, a deep blue shimmering in the sunlight, a tinge of green... his silver grey eyes—

_"Exorior… amores."_

The glow blinded her. She gasped in surprise.

Draco was alerted by her suddenly exclamation, "What was that?"

He turned around to the rock for the first time and also looked up instinctively at the sky above the boulders. He saw an emerald shine somewhere far away. So she wasn't actually right behind him. These rocks... he touched the serpentinite again. Whatever charm was cast onto it, it was passing his words to her and back from so far away. Who was she? He became curious for the first time.

"It's... green," she whispered, her voice shivering.

Her fingers trembled too as the glow settled into a shimmer. An incredible green stone appeared in the place of the silver ring. Hermione squinted and tried to inspect it closely. The gem had tints of red streaks through its middle, floating in an ocean of sea green. It was beautiful. She described it to the man on the other side of the boulder in detail.

Draco had never seen his own heartstone before. He wasn't supposed to until the stone was properly bound to the woman of his affection. He almost wished he had shown Hermione before he made her forget forever. But that wouldn't have been right. It would've been dangerous for her if anyone managed to access her memory and got concrete evidence that she had his heartstone. The Dark Lord would be after her for it, knowing that it was still not genuinely bound to her because they were not married. And if the Ministry got to it instead... well, it'd destroy him for sure.

It suddenly became clear to Draco why the ancient dark wizard had kept him alive. He knew the Malfoys would have followed the ancient tradition religiously. As long as Draco was alive and unmarried, his heartstone was essentially 'up for grabs.' Strong emotions were associated with a man's heartstone, their will, their strengths and their weaknesses. When given to the one of their affection, it could form a lasting bond with the woman and protect them. When taken by someone who wished them ill, it could crush them and suck them of their energy and their powers. That was why Lucius, and now Draco, was sent after the Zabini heirloom. Blaise was the eldest son and also had a heartstone... and he was still single. If the Dark Lord were to collect enough of them—

"Do you have one? A heartstone..."

He came out of his trance. Draco realized beads of cold sweat were forming on his forehead with his revelation. Her question instantly made him think of Hermione again.

His response was slow. She thought she heard a frown in his voice.

"I did... but I gave it to... her."

She understood and sighed quietly, thinking what it must be like for him to have given it to someone he was no longer with. She turned the green stone in her hand. Green reminded her of Draco Malfoy. He was the epitome of a Slytherin. Hermione realized she had some recollection of the younger Malfoy now. He was Head Boy with her… and he had an awful temper and a fondness for sexual jokes. He used to call her... _mudblood_, like Zabini did. But he stopped one day. Why did he? And where was he now? Nobody had seen him since the time she had supposedly seen him. Were they friends? She turned the stone in her palm, admiring its luster. She was able to reveal its glow... and yet, she was sure the ring was not Harry's.

_"I don't want anyone else to taint our memories."_

She blinked. Something important that she had just remembered. What was it?

_"Keep it close to your heart."_

She stared at the stone now. _Close to my heart... _she said silently to herself. She thought she had a flashback again, and closed her eyes. His silver grey eyes, staring into hers-

A tear rolled down her cheek. Her heart reached out to her invisible companion. She wondered how close by he was, and who he was. Why was his heart broken? She didn't know why, but his situation sounded strangely familiar to her. The stone turned back into a silver ring. Hermione pulled it through the chain and put it around her neck again._ Close to my heart..._

"Do you regret it?" she asked, though she was still lost in thoughts.

On the other side he shook his head and answered without a doubt, "No."

Why would he? It would protect her, even if she didn't know about it.

"Do you... miss her?"

He was so taken off guard by her question; tears flowed from his eyes before he could stop them.

She heard his quiet tears and stayed silent respectfully.

For a while only the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves filled the silence. She closed her eyes, letting her subconscious take over.

_"I thought then... maybe I've chosen all wrong."_ _He had so many regrets, and so did she. _

_What did you do that was so bad? "You can choose differently now."_

_"But I can't undo what I've done."_

"I miss him," she said.

Draco wiped the tears off his cheeks, not understanding. "Who?"

"Who?" She opened her eyes, not understanding his question either.

"You just said you 'miss him.' Who is it?" he asked again. Something about the way she said it suggested it wasn't her husband.

Hermione was confused. She remembered herself saying it, but she couldn't remember why, or for whom. The words had spilled out unconsciously.

"I... I don't know," she tried to remember, but instead, tears started streaming down her cheeks.

Draco heard her crying and snickered sarcastically. _My, my, aren't we a confused pair._ He looked up at a cloud that was passing by and tilted his head back so the top of his head was touching the cold stone surface behind him. He looked at the green, almost black, streaks of the rock, thinking about the woman with sweet brown eyes and wavy long brown hair. He missed her.

"Do you think," he asked now, as her crying had subsided, "do you think she misses me?"

It was a stupid question, he knew. Why would she know? She didn't even know who he was, much less whom he was in love with. It was a stupid question, but he had to ask.

Hermione sniffled and rubbed her eyes dry.

Golden meadows and silver grey eyes. They filled her mind and overpowered everything else when she tried to remember. And she longed for her lost memories- she longed for him. She didn't dare say it; she didn't even dare _think _it. She realized why it had hurt so much for so long. She was longing for someone that she couldn't even remember, and she couldn't deny it.

_Stay with me, Hermione._

His voice - so filled with anguish. She had loved that voice. Loved the man who owned that voice.

The man on the other side sniggered again self-deprecatingly, and she heard him.

"It's alright," Draco sighed, "I wasn't really looking for an answer."

_If he had loved me back... would he be asking the same question now too?_

Hermione wiped the rest of her tears off her cheeks, "I'm sorry, I don't know anything about you."

He snorted an I-know.

She smiled at his sarcasm; he was such a bitter man. _Like him..._

Hermione imagined how he must think about his lost love all the time, without ever speaking of it, without ever telling the woman he loved about it. He had come here, into the middle of nowhere, not expecting company, just talking to a rock that supposedly wouldn't have answered to his silent pleas. And now he was asking her a question, a question he knew she had no answer to. But she had an answer. An answer not for him, but for someone who might be out there... thinking about her the way she was thinking about him.

"Whoever she is, she must think about you too."

He didn't understand why but her words were calming, like she was speaking the truth somehow.

Draco stood up; he had already exposed himself too much during this conversation. He should go.

"I have to leave now. Nice talking to you," he was genuine.

She was surprised by his abrupt farewell. _Just as offhanded as his questions, he must be impatient._

She stood up too, looking around her even though she knew she wouldn't see him.

"You too..." she said, hoping he was still there to hear her, "Thank you."

He touched the rock from his side, smiling a little, "You too. I don't know why, since really, nothing has changed but… I feel a lot better now. I hope you figure things out on your end."

She smiled at his sincere words, "I wish you the same."

She wanted to ask for his name, but it didn't seem appropriate. They had spoken to each other with the unspoken agreement of anonymity. She'd rather not make it awkward now.

Draco looked up at the towering boulder and the reddening sky above it. He had many regrets throughout his life, but he knew there was one thing he wasn't sorry for. He raised his hand to his chest and touched the tiny bottle hanging from a chain at his neck, the golden swirl of memories that belonged to her. He wasn't sorry for still holding her dear to his heart, he wasn't sorry for having ever fallen for her, and if she couldn't remember... at least he still had a part of her that he knew she loved.

Hermione looked up at the sky, somehow knowing he was looking at it too. The clouds floating by were a spectacular shade of pale red, grey and blue. The late autumn wind blew across her cheeks and she closed her eyes.

_Bittersweet seasons  
Mistake a warm winter for spring  
Seems like I'm best at leaving  
When leaving is not the best thing_

_You couldn't help it if you needed more than I could give  
I knew you felt me leaving long before I ever did  
That's just the way it goes. Now..._

_I call you misplaced, but never a waste of my time  
Everybody's gonna make mistakes  
But you'll never be one of mine_

- "Bittersweet" by Sara Bareilles

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**Author's notes:** Next is Part II. I apologize if you somehow have trouble reviewing this chapter or the previous one because of the changes in chapter numbers. Private messaging or anonymous reviews might do it in that case. So shameless of me, but I do love hearing from you readers :D

CLICK REVIEW BELOW, OR SEND ME A MESSAGE, AND I'LL BE BACK SOON! - M.


	26. PART II: Ashes of gold

**Author's notes:** Hi again. Here is the beginning of Part II interwoven with new facts and reminders from scenes in the introduction. For those of you who haven't read the beginning of this story in a while, I hope this chapter is not too shocking. - M.

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_**PART II**_

_30th December 2003_

_Dear Mr. H.J.P.,_

_I am fairly certain that you would have never expected a letter from me, and neither have I expected to send you such a desperate owl in my lifetime. Yet it has come down to this, and I have come to accept that a distressed widow would do anything to protect her only child - even the worse of treacheries. I have no qualms for warning you of dangers coming your way if it would mean my son would live. I am well aware though, at the same time, that there is very little reason for you to sympathize with my foolish son who attempted an advance on the woman you are lawfully wed to. Your anger is justified; nevertheless I hope you would hear my plea and - if you would consider it so - my advice._

_You must know by now how frantically He is gathering heartstones, and the consequences to their proper owners if the heirlooms were taken from them by force. My son's close friend was captured on Christmas Eve, and he... my son, he recklessly went after him despite my protests. My worst nightmare has come true. He was caught, and, as you know, Death Eaters don't employ the soft interrogation approaches you use in the Ministry. The only reason my son is not dead yet is because his heartstone is out of His reach. I am not asking for your direct assistance - I know the Ministry's opinion of my son - instead I ask you to go into hiding immediately. Don't trust any Ministry officer with your safety. I cannot tell you names, but the number of moles He had planted around you... it is enough to say that nobody could be trusted. Please do not ask how I learned where my son's heartstone is either. I have already said too much. What you should know though is this:_

_Run. Hide._

_I beg you._

_Don't let Him find her or the stone. If anything, please do this for her. Your wife's life depends on it too._

_- N.M._

xxx

It was cold... it was so damn cold.

_Honestly, what is it with Voldemort's fondness of frost and ice? _

Harry raised his chin painfully to face his archenemy. That last blow to his face did him good; they might have even broken his jaw. He struggled in vain to free himself from the chains fastened to his four limbs; they only got tighter with his every movement. Puffs of chilled air escape his lips... there was no hope for warmth; every breath was colder than the last. Harry could make out the shifting shadows of the Death Eaters surrounding him, but he could barely see. His glasses were smashed to smithereens somewhere on the carpeted floor during the fight that preceded his current apparent defeat. He glanced around the room that was Hermione and his hideout only until that morning. From scenes he replayed in his mind, Harry knew that there was barely a trace of the cozy furniture they had set up only two months ago.

Two months, and that was all it took for their enemies to find them and grind their hiding place into dust. Narcissa Malfoy's attempt at warning Harry did little good. He did though, with the first sign of trouble, give Hermione an emergency portkey and send her out of sight. He didn't even give Hermione the time to object. Harry laughed at himself bitterly. So much for him promising to be more open to her almost two years ago when he was in his vegetative state. He had hidden so much from her for so long; Harry didn't even know where to start when Hermione finally confronted him head-on for acting like a paranoid maniac. It was hard to convince her that she absolutely had to get out of there without explaining why. Or why they were in hiding, or their lack of communication with the Ministry and even the Weasleys. He wished he had been truthful to her for once, especially now when he knew that his end was near.

Lord Voldemort circled him slowly, watching him like a cruel cat inspecting its injured prey. Harry had fought bravely; but even the most experienced Aurors were no match to so many Death Eaters on their own. Now he was chained to the floor, bloodied and surrounded. The Dark Lord could pounce now, but _no-_ he never did until his victims were broken inside out. Physical injury wasn't enough; he wasn't going to give Harry the pleasure of the final blow just yet.

Harry coughed on his own blood and spat at the feet of the tall ancient wizard standing before him, "You're wasting your time," he said.

The Dark Lord did not stop circling him, nor did he respond, though he raised his eyebrows subtly.

A masked Death Eater in the background sneered instead, "Too eager to die now, Harry Potter?"

The others that were hiding in the shadows joined in and laughed. Harry ignored them. Instead he tried to focus his blurry vision on the Dark Lord. Gritting his teeth, he bravely spoke again, "It's bound to her already. His heartstone is useless to you."

At his audacious words, Voldemort burst with anger and apparent frustration, "LIAR!"

He threw his cloak behind him and revealed his long yew wand, hissing threateningly, "It couldn't possibly bind with her properly. You're married to her!"

"True," Harry responded blankly, "But heartstones are bound by _will -_ not the law," his words were assertive and bitter at the same time, "The stronger the will to protect, the more tightly they bind to the ones they were given to. That's why you want them so much, isn't it?"

Harry was almost smirking. He continued, "The power behind such a spell is immeasurable... What could a few marriage laws do?" His smile was thoroughly bitter now, "She remembers nothing, Voldemort. But she _remembers._"

_She loves him too. She loves him back. The spell is essentially complete._

The Dark Lord hated the way _the boy _said his name so fearlessly; he refused to be goaded. There was something in Potter's eyes that was just as infuriating as the self-assured look Draco Malfoy had on him, no matter how Voldemort had tortured him for the location of his heartstone.

_Young kids these days. So cocky._ It drove him insane. _Blast them all._

He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's face.

Even with his poor eyesight, Harry could see what was coming next.

_"CRUCIO!"_

Harry thought his eardrums would burst. A sharp pain shot up his spine and pierced through his head. He wrestled wildly in his chains and flailed like a mad man, barely hearing his own screams through the intolerable pain. The Dark Lord's laughter sounded forced when he finally lowered his wand. Harry dropped to the bloodied carpet in a heap, his breathing quick and heavy.

Menacing words slithered from the Dark Lord's lips. Disbelief was clear in his voice, "You've allowed another man to have so much power over your woman... Do you have no pride?"

Harry heaved himself up with his forearms and released a painful whisper in reply, "As long as it protects her, I don't care."

"Lies again, Potter," the Dark Lord snapped back in mockery, "You're wrong. You'll see... or maybe you wouldn't," he laughed at Harry's current lack of choice. The other Death Eaters joined in the laughter awkwardly. They weren't as sure that Harry was wrong about Draco Malfoy's heartstone anymore.

"I could get rid of you first, and get to the mudblood later," Voldemort hissed as he pointed his wand at something on the floor and swirled it onto Harry's face. Voldemort had fixed his glasses and Harry could see clearly again. For a moment Harry didn't comprehend, until the ancient wizard flicked his wand at him once more. An invisible force jerked Harry's head upwards so he would look straight into the Dark Lord's red eyes.

"I could get rid of you," the Dark Lord said again, "Or we can wait, and you can watch your wife die slowly at my hands. Wouldn't that be a lovely sight, Potter?"

Harry felt tears escaping his tear ducts as he lay stoic, enabling Voldemort to manipulate his body however way he wished to. Harry had no will to struggle any longer; his body felt limp under its own weight.

The Dark Lord sneered at the visible tears on the young Auror's face, and continued to taunt him like he was taking candy from a child.

"Slowly... painfully... for as long as it takes to burn her pretty tortured face into what little would be left of your memory. And then it will be your turn... And history will finally put you in your place. The-Boy-Who-Lived, _HA!_ People would know you as The-Boy-Who-Almos- "

_"EXPELLIARMUS!"_

"Who—"

Voldemort reeled around to see which blasphemous prick had shot his wand out of his hand, but there wasn't time to see. Aurors stormed into the tiny hut through the broken door, screaming binding curses and hexes as they came through. The Death Eaters in the room swarmed around in alarm as they fought back, and the Dark Lord had to reorient himself to take charge of the new situation. Harry thought he saw Layla's blonde and red streaks somewhere amidst the confusion. Somebody ran forward to Harry and pulled him upright with a jolt. He raised his head painfully and saw a familiar face. His eyes widened in panic.

"Hermione!"

"Harry, we have to go now- "

She zapped at the chains on his arms. They fell off one by one. Multitudes of curses and hexes flew above them as she unchained his legs too. An Auror stood above them, deflecting spells that were aimed at the Potter couple.

"Hurry!" the Auror shouted.

Harry protested, "Hermione, you shouldn't be here!"

She was furious, "You think I'd leave you just like that?"

"But he's after- "

"Shut up and help me!"

_"Avada Kedavera!"_

The Auror standing guard above them fell dead at their side. Hermione gasped in horror and looked up to see the Dark Lord himself glaring at them with lunacy flaring in his red pupils. He was mad, he was absolutely mad. He raised his wand at her.

_"Why you-"_

She didn't give him a chance. Hermione grabbed Harry and grabbed her emergency portkey the moment she broke off the last chain. They disapparated from before the Dark Lord's eyes.

And they ran the moment they landed on solid ground. Adrenaline pumped through them for the first twenty or thirty feet, but it was all Hermione could do to keep Harry standing upright. He soon fell and she fell with him. She tried to help Harry onto his feet, but he was too hurt to take more than a step. She screamed as Death Eaters began to appear and close in on them.

"You think you can run away?" a Death Eater advancing towards them growled hoarsely from under his mask. The others murmured incomprehensible words as they closed in on the couple too. Someone grabbed the first Death Eater who spoke and stopped him from advancing any further. They were angry, frustrated and confused. Hermione raised her wand in defense. Harry took her by the arm and shielded her before she could expose herself more than she should.

_"Kill her!"_

"No, you might kill Potter by mistake!"

"All the better!"

"No, _NO!_ Not till the Lord is here- "

They were in a wide devastated graveyard. Ten Death Eaters, and then You-Know-Who himself. Harry shifted his weight and tried to stand tall, raising his wand to protect the woman who was holding on to him tightly.

"Hermione," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her defensively.

"No, Harry," she refused to let him protect her in his current wounded state. He had protected her many times in the past; it was her turn now.

"_Hermione,_" he said again, more firmly this time.

She quickly glanced at him, unable to take her eyes away from their imminent danger.

He was smiling. It took her off guard.

His words were barely above a whisper, "I love you."

Her eyes widened. _No, don't say that now._

He looked down briefly at the silver ring flashing at her neckline and turned back towards his sworn nemesis.

"Harry- " Hermione protested as he stood between her and Voldemort.

The Dark Lord took something from his robe pocket and it glowed a bright blue as he advanced towards them. Harry's eyes widened in dread; he raised his wand. Voldemort raised his wand too, a green blaze sizzling at the tip of his wand as he pointed it at the couple, _"AVADA KEDAVRA!" _The stone in the Dark Lord's hand radiated a magnificent blue that blended with the green flare at the tip of his wand. The deadly spell charged at full speed towards Hermione.

Harry stood forward and yelled with all the strength left in him, a scarlet glow blasting from his wand, _"EXPELLIARMUS!"_

The force of the two spells clashed right in their faces and a blinding green glow shot into the air from Hermione's chest, shielding her and colliding with the forbidden curse from the Dark Lord. The concussion of violent spells exploded in the middle of the circle, and its powerful force pushed everyone off their feet. Something heavy hit Hermione and she fell over with it. People were screaming, and she could hear rapid footsteps and the zipping and zapping of people apparating and disapparating. Hermione thought the heavy object lying over her would crush all the air out of her lungs. The extreme pain in her lower back sent stars flying in her head. She must have jammed herself onto a rock. She couldn't open her eyes. Someone heaved the motionless body off her and grabbed her arm to help her to her feet. It was then that Hermione opened her eyes with the horrifying revelation. Layla was standing above her, mascara-streaked tears rolling down her cheeks. Hermione didn't realize the agonizing scream in her ears was coming from her own lips until Layla squeezed her tight, apologizing over and over again for not making it in time. Hermione wasn't hit by the curse, but Harry was lying on the ground motionless. And he was dead—

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**Chapter Twenty-six: Ashes of gold**

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_"I did it out of respect for whatever was left of her feelings for him... It was the least I could do." _- Harry James Potter (R.I.P. 1980-2004)

Hermione opened her eyes.

She fluttered her eyelashes in the soft sunshine coming through the trees, expelling tears that felt cold against her cheeks. She looked up at the cloudless skies. The weather was too nice for her somber feelings.

It had been two months since Harry passed away, yet it felt like time was slugging along slowly.

_"He was the hero of our time..."_ The priest's words at the service constantly rang in her head.

The Dark Lord was killed that night when he attempted to use a stolen heartstone against them. It was a forceful and immature move. Facing the combined powers of Harry's defensive spell and the strange shielding charm that protected Hermione, the brilliant blue shine rebounded on the Dark Lord and ended his life- or so the Ministry had explained to the public. Hermione looked up from the pensieve that Draco had placed on the balcony for her, and stared out at the expansive forest beyond the Malfoy Manor. The reasons why Voldemort died did not matter to her. Harry was gone. He was gone... and only now had she begun to find answers to the two months she had lost almost two years ago.

She had been visiting Harry's grave again the day before, lost in thoughts and tears of grief for a man that meant so much to her. Night fell and rain began to pour; she barely noticed the dreadful fever she was developing after having been out in the rain for so long... until Draco came up to her.

She had heard his voice, and when she saw him clearly the next morning after she woke up from her fever... the invisible wall between her and her past began to melt away.

And yet she still felt empty inside.

Draco wondered what could be going through her mind now. When Hermione showed signs of remembering what happened between them, he had taken her vial of memories and brought his family pensieve out for her to use. She had lived through their past together through the charmed waters. If only she would say something about what she saw. Anything would be fine.

But Hermione stood in silence, staring at the now empty vial in her hand. The golden swirls of her lost memories were still visible in the pensieve. The memories were so vivid, and yet... she felt disconnected from them. It was as if it were someone else's memories that she was watching. It still made no sense to her. _An affair with Draco Malfoy?_ It sounded wrong.

She knew he was standing somewhere behind her. Hermione could hear the clattering of a metal spoon against fine porcelain. Maybe he was pouring himself tea now after she had declined his offer for some. It was the first time they were in each other's presence in two years, and yet she only remembered him to be the cold boy at Hogwarts almost six years ago. Draco had been up all night tending to her fever, checking her temperature the first thing she came to that morning. How was he so kind to her? He was quiet now- the old Draco Malfoy never held his tongue around '_the mudblood'_. But the pensieve suggested the contrary, that he had so much emotion in him and had loved her with all that he had, and that she had loved him back... and loved him deeply.

Of course an affair with him made no sense. What they had - what she saw in the pensive of them - barely seemed like an affair to her. It was something more innocent, something so strong yet so vulnerable. The shielding charm that protected her on the night of Harry's death made sense now. Last autumn in Paris, she had figured out that she had Draco's heartstone, but she never thought it had the power to protect her without binding to her rightfully. It couldn't have- she was married to Harry. Until just an hour or so ago, she wasn't even sure that she had really known Draco after Hogwarts.

Hermione now knew why Harry looked at her with such sad eyes when he was obviously lying to her. He had known all this time, and he had lied to carry on their life together. He had lied so she wouldn't remember. And she too had pretended she didn't mind him hiding things from her, because somewhere deep down she knew. She knew why he was lying to her.

It was foolish of them. She wished he had told him so. She wished she had the ability to judge better back then. She had voluntarily given up her memories. She had made the decision to be with Harry. He should have known that she was committed to him then.

And yet, she had Draco's heartstone. Hermione couldn't imagine the agitation Harry went through, knowing that she had it all this time. She only realized the truth when he looked down at the ring at her neck that night, right before the Dark Lord struck them. She realized that he knew- he knew that she had a Death Eater's heartstone. Yet instead of turning it in to the Ministry as an Auror should, he had kept it a secret from everyone, even her.

And now he was dead.

Hermione closed her eyes. She tried to visualize in her mind what the pensieve had just shown her a moment ago; she tried to recall Draco as the loving man it had shown him to be. But her own memories were still fogged over. All that came to her mind - and all too clearly - was Harry's lifeless body in her arms, and the never-ending rain pounding against her. She felt cold inside despite how warm and spring-like it was all around her. It was April, and new greens were emerging everywhere, but she was still stuck in that cold February night when Harry had left-

"Hermione."

Draco's hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. She turned to him at his voice, and turned away again to hide her tears. Draco saw the lost look in her eyes right before she turned away from him and sighed inside. _No, she doesn't remember yet, not all of it anyway._

He spoke gently, taking her empty hand, "I'm sorry if that was too much for you... maybe it was too early for you to see."

Something about his voice suggested an unfaltering personality. It wasn't cold like that of the teenaged Slytherin she remembered; instead he sounded concerned, attentive. His gentle touch sent shivers up her spine and she looked up at him. Draco looked wearier now than he did in the images inside the pensieve. He was very good at hiding his exhaustion - Hermione knew by now that he was a brilliant Occulmens - but his facade did not fool her. He was tired, and he was disappointed. She must have forgotten so much about their relationship... she couldn't associate with his pain. And yet the soft touch of his hand felt so familiar to her.

"You've been wearing this on your neck... all this time?" she asked doubtfully.

He looked down at the vial she was handing to him and smiled an awkward smile, like he was embarrassed that he had indeed been holding on to her memories all this time. He took the empty bottle from her hand and returned the golden swirls into it with his wand. It was a sign that her memories had not completely returned to her that the swirls were still physically there.

Hermione watched the strange expression on his face and felt her stomach flutter in a way that she couldn't explain. As far as she could remember, he had never been embarrassed around her. His smile was shy, almost bashful... and sad. She turned away self-consciously.

"...Thank you," she spoke under her breath.

He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of her sad smile as she turned away.

She was confused by the memories he had just shown her, he could tell. Even now, as they stood so close to each other - when she could clearly see Draco and hear him - it wasn't enough to completely overcome the spell he had cast on her almost two years ago. He wouldn't be surprised either if she were subconsciously suppressing her memories out of grief. Draco tried his best to hide his disappointment. He had come a long way to find her; this was hardly the happy ending he had imagined.

Hermione glanced at Draco and noticed he was watching her with such an unfamiliar affection- Had he always looked at her like that? Not at Hogwarts.

And had she reciprocated?

She felt herself blush at that thought, and lowered her gaze. From his rolled up sleeves, she saw the tattooed snake slithering up his forearm, hovering around a cursed skull still so frightening.

Draco noticed how her face paled significantly. He looked down at his Dark Mark and knew the reasons for her stare. He unrolled his sleeve uncomfortably, bringing Hermione back to her senses.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to stare." She was embarrassed, but her cheeks were still pale, almost bluish. His Dark Mark had reminded her all too vividly of Draco's former alliance.

"It's alright."

She looked up at him, trying to decipher from his expressions the meanings to his response.

He smiled at her sadly, "I can't change the past even if I wanted to... I'm sorry that it makes you uncomfortable."

She didn't mean to hurt his feelings. Hermione quickly expressed regret, "It's not that, Draco."

His name came out so naturally; Hermione had to stop for a moment, assessing whether this was her normal interaction with him. But she couldn't judge what was 'normal' anymore. She didn't remember everything about him, and now she couldn't help but associate him with a deeply painful moment in her life. The despairing moment when Harry lay in her arms, unresponsive to her pleas for him to come back to her; the moment she had to accept that he was truly gone; and the last thing she remembered of him - crying out the disarmament spell, and his simple but sincere "I love you."

It just all hurt too much.

"It's not... about you. It's just that—" she tried to explain, but flashes of red and green came back to her mind, obstructing her train of thought. The Dark Lord's icy voice, yelling the unforgivable curse.

"It just... reminds me of that night..." she finally managed to say.

Even though he knew she would have reacted the same way to any Death Eater's Dark Mark, Draco still felt dejected. As if it wasn't bad enough already that she couldn't remember him, he found it hard to digest that the Hermione now found him frightful, and possibly even repulsive. He remembered the horror in her eyes when she first discovered that he had joined the Dark Lord's side. But she had accepted him when they met again years later. He remembered her fear when he walked pass her in his Death Eater robes in Paris, the way she froze at the sight of him. But she hadn't known it was him back then. And now, now when she had finally recovered some of her memories of him... the Dark Mark only served as a reminder of the man that essentially killed her husband and her best friend.

Draco stared at the woman he loved so much. Maybe Narcissa was right; she had warned him against returning to the British Isles when they escaped back to France as fugitives at the end of the war. There were a multitude of reasons to stay away, but Hermione was one of them. Narcissa didn't approve of his urges to see her.

_"She's widowed because of the Dark Lord, for Merlin's sake, Draco, you-were-his-servant! You'll just open more wounds, love. Don't go... now is not the time."_

But he came; and now he couldn't help but think that his mother may had been right. He was just adding to her confusion and her pain. Taking her hand again, he guided her to a seat on the veranda bench and sat down with her.

"I'm... really sorry for your lost, Hermione," he was remorseful, "Potter was a brave guy."

Tears welled up in her eyes. It might be the first time Draco had made a compliment of Harry, and he had, for once, called Harry properly by his name instead of some crude nickname. There was no sarcasm there. There was no menace.

"I thought you disliked him," she chuckled, trying to sound lighthearted, "I remember that much."

He smiled at her words, knowing then that she was making an effort to remember him. Dislike was too soft a word for what Harry and Draco had felt for each other. But Draco realized too that her statement was no longer true.

"Actually, I don't... not any more."

Hermione didn't look like she believed him. Draco grinned at her bitterly, confirming her disbelief, "I did hate him, Hermione. It was childish rivalry, I know. And it only got worse when I fell in love with you."

She tried to turn away at his bold words, but he didn't let her. Despite the constant rejection, Draco couldn't just give up now. He turned her face back to him with a gentle tug on her chin. She was all flushed up as she turned back to him, though her eyes were still wandering to anywhere but his face. Draco didn't relent, "He gave up his life for you and protected you from the one man that I failed to stand up against all my life. I couldn't hate him for that. In fact... I might even hate him more now, making the ultimate sacrifice for yo- "

She burst into tears and flung his hand away from hers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt—"

"Don't EVER, EVER say such a thing again!"

He reached out to comfort her, apologizing for being insensitive, but she removed his hand from her shoulder.

"I didn't want him to sacrifice for me. I don't want YOU to sacrifice for me either! I just wanted him alive... alive that is all! But he's gone. He's gone, forever! So don't you even DARE talk about being jealous he sacrificed his life for me! I don't want you- "

Her eyes widened as she realized he had pressed his lips against hers. The irrational anger and frustration she felt towards him quickly changed into bewilderment. The firm pressure of his lips nearly melted her. It was the most intimate thing that anyone had done to her in a while. Her mind went blank in panic. Hermione fought with all her will power to push him away.

"Draco—"

"No matter what you say," he whispered as he moved away from her, his firm grasp still on her arms, "Or don't want me to say... I can sacrifice anything to make you happy, even us."

He stared straight into her eyes, virtually declaring his love to her. It terrified her how there was not a doubt in his voice.

"Maybe you don't know that now because you can't remember. But it's true."

She was speechless; the impression of his lips on hers was still strong and lingering. Every tender gesture he made was so foreign to her, and yet the way he was staring into her eyes, into her soul... it was so strangely familiar. He was so unyielding. He was so sure. She felt suffocated by the intense emotions within her that were about to spill out uncontrollably. Suddenly she wanted him to kiss her again, to hold her and to not let her go. But her mind told her that it was wrong, that she needed to get herself together and figure it out on her own.

_I'm just incredibly lonely right now. It's not about him. It can't be._

Hermione stood up from her seat, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry..." she said softly, barely able to look at him in the eye. Turning away, she went indoors to be alone.

Draco leaned back into his seat and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. She was more broken than he had imagined, and he was at a lost.

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**Author's notes****:** I hope I did justice to Harry... he's really grown on me, and despite his flaws and general inability to express himself, he truly loved Hermione. This chapter was so emotionally draining to write. And you all know how I feel about Draco and Hermione (sigh).

**Please review.  
I love all your engaging comments! -M.**


	27. Candour

**Author's notes:** Thank you for the lovely reviews, it makes me happy how engaged you all are. Hope to hear from you again and more ;) Enjoy!

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**Chapter Twenty-seven: Candour**

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Hermione didn't care where she was going, so long as she got away from those eyes. Those unnervingly determined eyes. One look in them, and she knew that he meant what he said. To have someone declare their love to her like that, after keeping to herself for so long... it was disorienting to say the least.

_And h__e kissed me._

The touch of his hand on her face had already sent her shivers. And his lips when he kissed her... they felt so foreign, so strange. Strange, and yet it filled her with unexpected gratification. Her feet gradually slowed down to a normal pace, and she put a finger to her lips distractedly. There had been such a sense of familiarity to his kiss. And she blushed terribly again, remembering the way in which he had held her. Not even Harry had held her with such fervor when he was still alive. The warmth she felt in Draco's arms had felt so good. So liberating.

It was so liberating to be held by him again.

_Again_?

She felt a chill run up her spine at that thought. There was a part of her that she had forgotten, a part of her that she couldn't even begin to apprehend. She had struggled with this fact for a long time, so she should be relieved now, finally finding answers to all her unanswered questions in the past years. But Hermione was downright terrified. Draco's intense emotions for her was nothing like what she had imagined. He _really_ cared about her. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting instead; after all, she had suspected that the heartstone she had was his. And she should have deduced that too from the way everyone avoided talking about Draco Malfoy around her. A taboo that strong had to have a reason.

And yet, she couldn't imagine how that came to be. He'd used to call her such horrible demeaning names in school. She was _the Mudblood._

_And he fell in love with me? AND I was in love with him?_

She sped up her footsteps with that thought, striding through the Malfoy Manor at such a speed that any onlooker would believe she had a particular destination. It wasn't like Draco was following her; she just felt too unsettled to stop walking. She turned the next corner so quickly, she nearly slammed into what seemed like a wall to her. Looking up after she'd recovered from shock, she saw that it was a towering door.

That was when Hermione assessed her surroundings for the first time. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts; she hadn't really been looking where she was going. It was a long hallway, much like the many others that she had walked through until then. She vaguely remembered walking down a flight of stairs at some point, so she must be on the ground floor now. The door before her reached up to the ceiling, probably leading to a main room of the building... As if sensing her curiosity, the door opened itself with a creak.

It was a spacious dining hall, the same one that Hermione had had her first dinner date with Draco, but she didn't recognize it. In the middle of the room was a long antique table, and a gorgeous chandelier hung low from the ceiling above it. She recognized the dining setup that was common among upper class families. The arrangement of the chairs puzzled her though. Usually, chairs were set at opposite ends of the table. Draco's table had two chairs at one end and none at the other. It stirred a memory in her, and Hermione felt her headache returning.

By now, she understood that the physical response was a result of the memory-suppressing spell. But, she thought, the spell should have been broken by now. She wondered if she was subconsciously holding herself back. And in a way, she _was_ scared to remember. Something about the room intrigued her though, especially the chairs standing next to each other. Hermione slid her fingers delicately along the smooth table surface, imagining two people sitting there together. Her headache got worse. It was a good sign, in a way; at least she was getting closer to the truth.

She closed her eyes and told herself that it was okay to remember. She tried to calm her nerves, but she was doubtful that it'd do any good, especially since she had tried this routine at least a hundred times in the past years. But eventually, her breathing became even, and she relaxed the muscles on her face, her shoulders, her arms, and her fingertips—

Like a faint song from afar, she began to hear the memory in the back of her mind. It faded in and out at first, becoming clearer little by little through her cloud of thoughts. A warm feeling filler her stomach. She felt a long-forgotten giddiness from spending time with someone she was deeply infatuated with. She heard a warm conversation between friends, laughter, and familiar music that came through the door from a different room... Spasms of moments, words and faces—

_"Would you like to dance?"_

_And she had taken that hand, so thoughtlessly. __She had been seduced by that voice. _

Hermione's knees felt weak; she pulled a seat for herself. _Is this a memory of Draco? _Her breathing was heavy again, though she had yet to notice. She was too concentrated on her thoughts.

Unbeknownst to her, Symon watched nervously from a corner of the room. Hermione's fever had not fully subsided just yet, and the turbulent moods she displayed earlier on the balcony had worried him. In fact, her temperature was rising now as she searched harder in her mind what exactly happened in this room. She recognized the sharp pain that pressed at her temples like it had done so many times in the past two years. A cry of anguish almost escaped her lips, which she swallowed with commendable self-control. A sob still escaped her throat._ It hurt. _Once again, she knew she was no longer in control of her memories.

How could she fight it? She felt like a prisoner in her own flesh, unable to conjure a memory that belonged to nobody but her. It was pure torture. In her feverish daze, she remembered a different memory. The pain in her head eased as she drew her attention away from the room she was in. A more recent memory at a friendly bar in downtown London became clear in her mind, and she smiled as tears rolled down her cheeks:

_"God, no," he protested as she yanked him onto the dance floor, "I can't, Hermione, wait-"_

_She laughed and placed his hand on her waist, taking his other hand in hers, "Relax, Harry. It's easy."_

_There were other couples on the dance floor, all swinging to the jazzy music played by the live band at the front of the room. Hermione moved to the music with ease, while Harry's eyes stayed on his helpless feet. When he finally looked up at her, the music ended abruptly, or so it had seemed. His sigh of relief was most theatrical._

_"That wasn't half bad, was it?" Hermione chuckled._

_Harry took off his glasses and wiped them with a corner of his shirt. "When did you learn how to dance?" _

_She smiled. He always adjusted his glasses when he was nervous. It was a habit she would never pick up from him; she had perfect eyesight._

_"I don't know," she shrugged, trying to remember, "It just seems so natural to me."_

_She could see the wheels in his mind turning, analyzing her words. She sighed and sardonically reminded him that she didn't need an official memory loss to forget other small events in her life. Harry raised his eyebrows and then chuckled when she smirked at him. He nodded, sorry for being paranoid once again. __They were still standing on the dance floor when the next song came on. She looked at him expectantly but didn't say anything. Harry shook his head and laughed quietly._

_"Would you like to dance?"_

_And she had taken his hand, beaming—_

It was a sweet memory; one of the few when she wasn't having a prolonged silent argument with him over her memory loss. But even reminiscing hurt when those loved ones had left you and gone. And now as the pain in her head subsided, Hermione felt the unbearable heartache of the lost of her husband and her close friend.

Symon watched as she slowly leaned onto the table before her and nested her chin on her folded arms. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. He could see her pain, but he didn't interfere. He didn't quite know what to do. Symon had seen that she was sitting in the exact seat she had sat in two years ago. Was she crying because she remembered his master Draco? Yet even from his distance, Symon could hear her softly whimpering Harry's name. He fumbled his fingers sadly.

_"It's her seat now, leave it be."_

Those were Draco's words two years ago and the reason why her chair had stayed in its place since. Symon remembered how elated he was to find his master in love. Hermione had been like a refreshing summer rain to them back then. She was sincere and forthright, despite all the underlying deceit, and she was bold enough to show Draco that he could loosen up, that he could drop his façade for something more honest, something... real.

It was disheartening for Symon to see Hermione now, once so strong, so broken and hurt. He trotted slowly to the table. Symon didn't know what he could do, but he wanted to help her. He hoped that was enough.

x x x

Hermione realized that she had fallen asleep. It could had been for a minute or an hour, she wasn't sure. Sleep had felt good for once; she hadn't been able to sleep peacefully in many months. She thought of dozing off again, but she heard soft breathing from across the table, so she opened her eyes sluggishly. A house elf was cautiously poking his head over the edge of the table, looking at her. She felt dizzy just straightening up to face him.

"Symon."

"Mistress Hermione."

Those simple words. _Mistress Hermione._ She heard such intense loyalty in that voice. When was it that he had started calling her that? And when did Draco start calling her by her first name as well?

She realized that she was calling him Draco too, not Malfoy, like when they were in school. Another proof that they had been at least friends, and yet she couldn't remember the circumstances in which they became intimate. The dull pain in her head reminded her not to try. It was frustrating.

As her eyes adjusted to the ambient light in the room, Hermione studied the young house elf's face. His glassy round eyes bore unspoken sadness. In spite of how emotional most house elves were, Hermione knew that they were hard to read without getting to know them personally. The fact that she could tell Symon was upset, and that he was upset by her memory loss, spoke something again of her former relationship with him. She felt apologetic; she didn't remember Symon past her first encounter with him. Even _that _memory was in fragments. Draco wasn't the only person that she couldn't register well.

"I'm sorry, Symon. I couldn't..." Couldn't what, she did not say. She didn't need to.

"It could not be helped, Mistress Hermione," he squeaked, controlling his shaking voice as best he could. He had promised himself to help her, not _cry _in front of her.

Hermione wanted to cry too, but her eyes were dry from crying so much already. Painfully dry. She didn't think that was possible. Symon, on the other hand, was wiping his tears off on his tiny sleeves. Everything on him looked pitifully minuscule, even his sleeves.

Hermione smiled a little in relief, noticing again that Symon was, indeed, no longer a slave to the Malfoy family. He had proper clothes now, made to fit his petite stature. The tiny house elf climbed onto the chair across from her, reaching out his claw-like hands to touch hers – no, he was reaching to hold her hand, to comfort her. A flashback engulfed her with such intensity; it shocked Hermione to her core: He was holding her hand too in her memory. And she was crying, frustrated with her helplessness. Everything around her was sterile white -white like a hospital - it was Saint Mungo's.

She felt blood leaving her fingertips with the revelation. Hermione noticed that Symon was still staring at her when she came to.

"You comforted me like this before." She had spoken softly, but her voice still resounded in the silence.

Symon's eyes brightened, tightening his grip around her hand. Someone made a sound behind them. They both turned, startled. Draco was standing at the door that Hermione had left opened; he must have pushed the door against the wall when he moved.

_Had he been standing there all this time? _Hermione blushed. He was looking at her the same way he did on the balcony. She wondered who blessed him with such intense eyes. Lucius, most likely. And yet, Lucius' eyes were cold. Draco's were filled with an unspeakable passion, a passion that she was not entirely comfortable with.

He had been standing there for a while now, leaning against the doorframe and watching Hermione without interrupting. He'd missed her so much in the past years; he wasn't sure if he could contain himself without scaring her away again. But the revelation that she might have remembered something... he couldn't hold back. His footsteps echoed in the room as he walked up to her.

She wasn't sure if she was ready to talk to him face to face just yet, but she got to her feet too, her heart pounding in her chest. The blood pressure in her head dropped quickly as she did so, and the world seemed to spin out of control. Draco took hold of her before she fell to her feet.

"You're still unwell," he whispered into her ear as he held her close to him. He knew, in the current circumstances, that he should have probably kept minimal body contact with her and just set her to her seat, but Draco couldn't help it. She felt so familiar to him, even though he was a stranger to her. And he heard her breathing in sharply.

His soft breath tingled at the nape of her neck. It reminded her of their kiss, and her skin burned with longing. She barely managed to take a hold of herself.

"I'm fine."

It was more of a murmur. She leaned onto the back of the chair, withdrawing from his touch. Draco couldn't help but smile watching her. She didn't look angry, just... shy. All these years, and she still felt so shy at a man's touch. _His _touch. Well, he wasn't sorry for _that_. He _wanted _her to blush at his touch. He reached out to her again to help her stand, but she backed away rapidly, half stumbling.

He had almost forgotten that she was also stubborn enough not to cave in, even when she should. His smile quickly turned into a frown. Hermione began to walk away, towards what she recognized as the front entrance of the manor. He wasn't going to let her leave just like that. Draco quickly followed her and took her hand, pulling her into his arms. She twirled around into his chest with his force, and she gasped as he pressed his palm against her forehead - she had expected worse.

"You know," he teased her with a mercilessly sultry voice, "you don't need to act so tough all the time."

Her only rescue was that Draco couldn't possibly tell that she was blushing now with her already burning cheeks.

"I... I'm not," her eyes averted from his face.

"Oh yes, you are, love," he laughed, "Your head's still burning."

His laughter was pleasant; a sound she thought she wouldn't hear from the Draco Malfoy she knew from her Hogwarts past, yet it was familiar at the same time. She realized that whether she remembered him or not, this Draco wasn't someone she could dislike. If she were to hate Draco now – and she knew she had once upon a time – it would be for a completely different reason: She was trying to set a distance between him and herself; but he wasn't letting her.

And he called her "Love." Harry used to call her that all the time. She felt tears come to her eyes as she remembered Harry's kind voice. Draco released his grasp around her waist with a start. What did he say to make her cry again?

"It's not you, Draco," she saved him confusion as she made an effort to stop crying, wiping the tears off with her sleeves. Her mood swings drove her insane too.

It stung, even though she didn't mean to. "It never seems to be," he muttered before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flared, but only briefly. Her grief overwhelmed her as she took in the entirety of his comment and the underlying emotions behind it. _Love. _Harry was calling here again. But now Draco's voice overshadowed Harry's in her mind. She inhaled quietly, guilty for allowing Draco to seize over her again. He'd kissed her already. That wasn't right. No, that was _so, SO wrong. _Even though Hermione didn't say anything, Draco realized immediately he'd upset her. But he wasn't generous enough to apologize. Nothing was going as he planned, and he felt utterly helpless. _Curse me for doing such a good job on blocking out my presence from her memory..._

She didn't look at him directly when she spoke again, "I'm really grateful for what you've done for me, Draco, but... I shouldn't be here."

She could sense what her words were doing to him even though her eyes were on the hardwood floor, but she needed to lay it all down without ambiguity. She couldn't afford having him hold her again, and she certainly couldn't have him kiss her again.

"Harry is all I can think about right now, I'm sorry."

She gathered the courage to glance up at him, and at once regretted saying that last sentence. The walls she was building around herself faltered a little. He looked so hurt; Hermione swallowed hard. It scared her how he was so still suddenly.

After a long silence, he spoke, quietly.

"Where will you go?"

"Our..." she stuttered in reply, "my apartment."

He sounded genuinely angry for the first time. "Bullshit, Hermione. You haven't been home for at least three weeks."

Her face paled. _How did he know?_

"I've been looking for you for a while now. I only found your place after the Ministry took down the Security Shield."

The Security Shield had been a special protection charm that guarded Ministry employees during the war; it was no longer necessary now.

"Your landlady said you haven't been back since March. Where have you been?"

Her landlady. She must be looking for her to pay April's rent by now. Hermione hadn't touched her joint account with Harry in a while, reluctant to use what was mostly his family's inheritance. The apartment they shared was the one thing she felt comfortable spending his money on. It was her last physical reminder left of him.

"Where have you been, Hermione?" Draco urged again, breaking her train of thought, "Weasley's? Layla's?"

He was gripping her shoulders firmly now; his fingers dug into her arm and it hurt, but she shook her head and refused to answer. The close proximity with Draco was making her heart beat so fast. Hermione struggled to maintain her sanity. As for Draco, he was so upset; he barely noticed the change in her. And when he forced her to look at him in the eye, flashes of incoherent memories swamped her mind instantly. She couldn't bear it. She needed to be alone, and yet being alone was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I'll be fine," she said; it was almost a croak. Her head was hurting again, and it got worse when she tried to look at Draco in the eye, to prove that she meant what she said. She had to look away. The crushing pain in her skull was too much to bear.

He heard her stubbornness, and it frustrated him. "I just found you burning with a fever out in a thunderstorm, Hermione! How can you _possibly _say you can take care of yourself?"

"Just leave me alone, please."

_How obstinate could this woman be?_

"Why wouldn't you let people who care about you help you?" She needed help. She needed it but she wouldn't give in. _Why?_

"Because you don't understand," her voice rasped in pain; her body temperature was rising steadily. _Why wouldn't he just let me be? _Her head was about to explode.

"I don't pretend I do," Draco argued, loosening his grip on her arm now, but still standing close to her, so close that she breathed in his cologne, "But, Hermione—"

It was so rich, so nostalgic—

"—you can't be alone. You—"

"But I can't be here!" she interrupted with a cry, unable to think straight anymore.

How could she explain to him it hurt her to know she was breaking his heart, but she was too helpless herself to do anything about it? How could she explain that she couldn't bring herself to lean onto anyone, despite the emptiness that swallowed her every night when she lay alone in bed?

The pain in her head burst into a slur of words that spilled out into the open. She choked as she spoke, "'Do you know what they say?" The way she stared at him, it was almost a glare. Draco was alarmed; he had never seen her like this.

"Bless him, my child. Bless him for saving us all,'" she mocked, "That's what they say. _Bless him!_"

Her voice was filled with disbelief, sarcasm barely concealed, "He _died,_ Draco! And everyone is _so happy!_ Everyone, even his friends and colleagues couldn't hide their relief that the Dark Lord is finally gone. But how can I judge them?"

Her eyes begged for understanding. Draco could only imagine how she had cringed quietly in pain every time someone said those blessings to Harry in front of her. Even the most sincere appreciation could cause the worst pain at times, and this was one of those moments.

And did his love for her hurt her too? Draco felt for her in a way he never thought he could - it hurt to know he was one of the people hurting her too, unintentionally.

"And it's not that I'm not relieved that the war's over," she continued to confess, miserably, "But the price... the price..."

Sobs punctuated her fragmented words now. She swallowed hard remembering her friends who tried to reach out to her, "And I can't rely on Ron or Layla... they're both... so broken. But they have family... and colleagues who shared their pain. They have someone to hold on to."

_But I don't._

Draco heard her silent words. She held back from saying so, but he knew that was how she felt. And he badly wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that she was wrong. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking down at her empty hands, as if she were trying to grasp onto invisible hands in front of her.

"I don't have a home to go to anymore, Draco," Her voice suddenly reduced to a whisper, "Nobody seems to understand that it's impossible to let go, to keep... living! That home that I have left, that's not my home... It was _ours. Our_ home." Her voice trembled, "Without him, without Harry, it's not... I cannot—"

Neither of them knew when she had flung herself into his arms. She was sobbing hard in Draco's chest now, and her body shook uncontrollably with her crying. Draco felt that his pain suddenly seemed trivial in the face of her grief, and he held her the only way he knew how:

Without a word. Without questioning. Just holding her quietly so she wouldn't get lost in her pain. He didn't tell her to stop either, knowing now that all she wanted was to mourn through and through. Others had tried to tell her things would be okay, but now that she had opened her heart to him, he knew better than to do the same. And he tightened his grip around her small frame as her tears soaked the front of his shirt. He wasn't going to let her walk out the door alone like this.

But there was no struggle there. Hermione didn't protest when he picked her up and took her out the door that they had come in through. She must be too exhausted to notice; after all, she had been standing there crying for at least half an hour. He carried her up the stairs.

"This room is yours now," he said as he pushed the door of a guestroom open with his back and walked into the room with her in his arms. Symon hurriedly followed and summoned a fire in the fireplace. The bed was warm and comfortable.

Hermione began to object as Draco set her down on the bed, but he placed a finger on her lips first. She went silent obediently. She couldn't tell whether her head throbbed from all the crying or from being in such close proximity to him. She was too tired to think now, and she didn't mind any longer. Draco tucked her into bed and ushered Symon to bring her a glass and a jug of water.

"You can object all you want when you're fully well," he whispered, for she recoiled every time he spoke too loudly, "But right now, I'm keeping you here for the sake of your health."

His words were compelling, yet so surprisingly gentle.

"Would you do that for me?" he asked. His anger from earlier seemed to have vanished; in its place was concern.

Hermione felt her eyes glaze over. It felt so comfortable lying there on the bed, with him sitting next to her and hovering over her, making sure that she was okay. She nodded, slowly.

Draco almost smiled, but he held back. He had one last important thing to ask her, "I have a place to go today, but promise me not to leave the manor, at least not until I return."

She nodded, though his words were getting lost in the vagueness of sleep.

"Promise me," he urged again, worried that she hadn't heard him.

"I... promise," she managed to utter in her half-sleep. He seemed relieved finally.

Draco raised his arms expectantly and his robe flew into the room and fitted itself onto him. He tied the robe at his chest and turned around to look at Hermione once more before leaving. She seemed sound asleep now, no longer crying.

"If you can't call anywhere home, Hermione..." he whispered so as not to wake her, "you always have me."

x x x

Sleeping during a fever induces some of the worst nightmares. For hours, Hermione felt like she was crossing between a torturous half-aware state of consciousness and deep restful sleep. In those rare moments of peace, she'd see a recurring dream: Pale moonlight entering from tall glass-paned windows, shimmering on translucent curtains that danced in the wind.

She'd look down and realize she was wearing a red dress, the hem twirling as she flew across the room. And she'd panic, but someone's hand always caught her firmly. And she'd always feel secure in those arms. But before she could see his face in the moonlight, he'd twirl her away again. And then she'd be opening a door, practically dashing through it with her long hair trailing behind her. A green flash of light would blind her then. And she'd see a cold dead body, lying in a heap, on the floor. It was back to the same nightmare she had every night for two months now. She could see herself, screaming as she lay over Harry's dead body. But she couldn't hear a thing. She woke up in a heap of sweat.

The sun was setting outside, tainting the room with a deep shade of crimson red. She panted for breath and looked around the room; her heart still beating crazily against her chest. For a moment, she couldn't remember how she got there, until she remembered that Draco had carried her into this bedroom. A guest bedroom. And he had told her not to leave the compound until he returned.

Hermione could barely remember what she had shouted at him, though whatever it was, she thought she hadn't made any sense. She felt embarrassed for having cried like that in front of him; especially after declaring she didn't need his help. She moved the sheets around her as she sat up, realizing the mess she had made with her tears and her sweat. She touched her forehead; her fever wasn't gone, she still felt light-headed, but she did feel better. Knowing that Symon would have to clean up the mess for her if he found out, she decided to go look for her wand to clean up after herself. Even in grief, Hermione was Hermione. She had already put the house elf through much trouble, it was the least she could do.

Remembering that she had seen her wand with her belongings in Draco's room earlier that day, she decided to first look for Draco's room. And it wasn't too difficult to find; in fact, it was just down the hallway. Hermione smiled a little despite herself. There were at least a hundred guest rooms in this gigantic building, and he had picked the one closest to his room for her. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Inside Draco's room, the bed had been made since she had woken up in it earlier that morning, but that was the only difference. Her wand and robes were still on a chair next to the bed as she had remembered them to be. She picked up her belongings to leave the room, when she saw the door to the bathroom, and she stopped. Curiosity took over her - and so did her headache - she knew what that meant. There was something here that she had forgotten, something important.

Cautiously, she walked to the bathroom door. It was not properly closed. She pushed it open and walked in. The floor tiles caught her attention first. They were in alternating white and green colors. She smiled at the familiar Slytherin tones and wondered if she'd noticed them before she had lost her memory. And then she looked up and saw herself in the mirror, and saw the shower stall in its reflection. She remembered the scene before her head could implode on her. She knew what she saw was real, that it had happened, because the pain in her head could well destroy her. And she blushed terribly.

She had taken a shower in that stall before, and she wasn't alone.

x x x

"Mistress Hermione?"

Symon poked his head through the door. It was open, and he felt uncertain for a moment that she was still there. Hermione turned around to face him; she was back in her room and had cleaned it up already. Bed made and all.

_Her_ room. She realized that she had already started calling it her own.

Symon looked relieved to see that she hadn't left. Hermione went up to the door and knelt down in front of him. She smiled, "I promised, didn't I?"

He smiled too and nodded. She wouldn't leave without telling him, he knew now.

"Supper, Mistress Hermione?" he asked as he revealed a tray full of food from behind the door.

She wasn't very hungry, but the food Symon brought was appetizing. She asked for the soup and the bread.

"I don't think I can handle much more yet."

Symon gave her a plateful of bread eagerly; he nearly spilled the soup all over the carpet. It was reassuring that she had an appetite now. Hermione had barely touched her breakfast that morning.

As she ate at the bedside, Hermione quietly thought about what she had remembered earlier. Strangely, once she registered the memory to be real, her head stopped hurting when she thought about it. She remembered clearly now, how bashful she felt during that shower with Draco. And how decent he had been despite the situation. It could have been more of a corporeal experience... instead it was emotionally-healing, like she had found a place to leave behind her burdens and rely on someone who didn't ask for anything in return.

The alluring memory flickered in her mind and a smile touched the corner of her lips. She imagined her relationship with Draco back then, and wondered what kind of a man Draco had been to make her feel at ease in such a way. The Draco now... was he like that back then too?

For Hermione knew that when she had been so stiff-necked with him, she was fighting that kindness. She was fighting not to feel at ease with him. It was inappropriate to even admit that his presence was comforting after all that had happened. And yet, she couldn't help but realize how honest she had been with Draco earlier when they fought. She had never spoken with such candour during her arguments with Harry - if you could call the silent treatment an argument at all.

Symon cocked his head sideways, questioning her smile.

"Sorry, I was lost in thought," she apologized, "I was in Draco's room earlier to get my wand, and I remembered why I stayed there the last time."

"As in this morning, Mistress Hermione?" Symon didn't want to be too hopeful, even though he was, just a little bit.

She smiled meaningfully, shaking her head, "As in two years ago, Symon."

The house elf's eyes widened. Unable to contain himself, he exclaimed a little too loudly, "Does Mistress Hermione remember everything now?"

"No, Symon, I... I don't remember much still."

His ears drooped sadly. He was so animated; his expressions were almost comical.

"But," seeing his disappointment, she added quickly, "I do seem to remember things when I... see them."

He beamed then.

"Symon will do anything to help Mistress Hermione remember!"

His enthusiasm was charming. She also noticed that for the first time in months, she was the one comforting someone instead of the one being comforted. Somehow that was an encouraging thought for her. And she asked him, "Is it okay if I explored the house? I think it helps..."

Symon was more than happy to show her the house, but Hermione wanted to do it alone. He understood. She thanked him for the food and stood up to leave the room, but then stopped short of the door when she thought of something.

"Do you think Draco..." she asked hesitantly as she turned back to look at Symon, who stopped putting away the dirty dishes onto the tray when he noticed her watching him.

"Do you think he'd understand that it's not that I don't want to remember him? I just... need time alone to figure it out."

She looked guilt-ridden and unsure. Symon smiled. He looked mature with that knowing smile, especially when his voice didn't squeak.

"Master is stronger than Mistress Hermione thinks," he assured her, "and he loves you."

She lost her breath at the tiny house elf's words.

"Very much," he even added. She thought she might cry.

x x x

The room Hermione stumbled into wasn't one that she had known from before.

Her mouth stayed open as she goggled at the vast collection of books. The Malfoy family's library was enormous. The tall bookshelves that reached the ceiling seemed endless, and there were sliding ladders along each section to reach those stowed away at the top. Though no muggle's classics were shelved, the room was as close to Hermione's dream library as it could get for one that belonged to a wizardry family. It was her dream to have a personal library one day, and Harry certainly had been wealthy enough to build one for her, but he would have had to use the money his parents had left him. She wasn't comfortable with that. Especially since Harry wasn't exactly a book-lover.

She felt a tinge of jealousy as she glided her fingers along the book shoulders. Every book was sorted by subject, in alphabetical order. The smell of old books filled the shelves. She adored the room.

Hermione remembered how someone once said that they preferred staying in their room, drinking tea and reading rather than socializing with the elite. Had it been Draco who had said that? For he must love books to have maintained this room so well even after Lucius' passing.

And it was well used into.

Hermione found a pile of books on the reading desk in the center of the room. The pages were still open, with bookmarks in some of the books. She sat down and read a few. They were all about heartstones. Some were concerned with dark magic, describing how the abuse of heartstones could destroy the owners' souls. Others were ancient medical books, consoling how to heal someone who had had their heartstones stolen from them.

She touched Draco's heartstone that was still at her chest and wondered whether she had been reluctant to store the necklace away because a part of her feelings had lingered unknowingly. It reminded her how she had survived the ordeal with the Death Eaters and Harry hadn't. Her eyes clouded over with survivor's guilt again. She turned the stone in her palm as she continued to check all the other books on the table. They were about heartstones. Every single one of them.

Whose soul was Draco trying to heal? His?

But she had not abused his heartstone, at least not consciously. She felt selfish suddenly. All this time, she had not asked Draco about his time as prisoner of the Dark Lord. He had suffered torture to protect her from harm... She blushed reflexively again. He really did love her, didn't he?

She knew he deserved more thoughtfulness than she had given him so far. And again despite herself, Hermione chuckled at that thought. More than six years ago, when Draco had still called her by the derogatory nickname "mudblood," she was sure that she'd never think he deserved any sort of kindness from her. But things change, don't they?

She came across a bookshelf filled with heavy-bound hardcover books._ History books. _She smiled with satisfaction. Hermione loved this section in particular. She picked one of her liking – "The History of the Middle Kingdom" – and carefully removed it from its shelf. There wasn't even a coat of dust on it. Symon must have worked really hard to keep this room clean. The book was heavy; she wasn't sure if she could carry it to the reading table. Her eyes scanned the room.

_Ah._ She smiled.

Hermione found a comfortable looking armchair hidden behind the shelf she was standing at. There was even a reading lamp next to it. She sank into the seat and began reading, hooking her long wavy hair onto her ears and sliding her fingers delicately along the old yellowed pages as she turned them. She hadn't read in so long. Too long. Books were her solace; they had been for a very long time, ever since she had taught herself to read. Whether fiction or not, they took her to a different world, drew her into a different era, and her imagination would run wild, taking her mind off of reality or helping her reevaluate it from a new perspective. They gave her ideas. They calmed her. They were her secret best friends.

_Does Draco sit here too? Reading his favorite books and drinking tea?_

She could picture him as someone who would find peace in reading too. She curled up into her seat now, legs tucked onto the chair and book lying on her stomach between her arms. She smelled a faint scent of Draco's cologne on the cushions and smiled. She felt comfortable, though she didn't want to admit it. And it reminded her of Paris, somehow.

* * *

**Author's notes: **I think it's healthy for Hermione to finally let out her bottled up feelings. Sorry for the long wait!

**Please review.  
Love hearing what you think as always :) - M.**


	28. Quiet mind

**Author's notes:** This chapter was inspired by _A Quiet Mind_, a song by Texas rock band, Blue October.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-eight: Quiet mind**

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_You may have been right, that I have opened more wounds than healed. I think you'd understand though when I say that I couldn't walk away, if only to atone for the errors of my past. __I was too self-absorbed to concern myself with your pain when Father passed away, and even though I still feel inadequate as I did back then, I couldn't give up quite so soon now. _

_I have much to amend here, and not just with her. __I suppose here is where I would ask you not to worry, and promise you my safety. But as it has been in the past several years, I couldn't very much guarantee that. __So for now, I will say that I promise to be cautious, and look for the day when we can honestly say that we are safe._

_Love, D._

xxx

The Malfoy Manor wasn't an easy place to guard from intruders or spies. Never mind the endless old-growth forest that continued from their backyard, their property extended at least two hundred yards from the main building in every direction. Its massiveness was saved only by a formidable fence that surrounded the entire perimeter, and that was where Draco apparated to after a long day of running errands.

_Running errands, ha._ Draco snickered. If only they were simple chores.

He looked down at himself and knew, even though he couldn't see with the sun down now, that his cloak was dark and dripping with someone else's blood. He hadn't killed anyone today, but he was close. Draco shuddered at that thought. He hadn't liked his opponent, but he'd drawn more blood than he intended to, and he was tired and self-reproachful. As he pulled out his wand to light up his path, he wondered vaguely whether he'd ever have a peaceful life, but then stopped himself in time from muttering the spell he had in mind.

_Damn, should pay more attention. _

One _"Lumos"_ and a spying Death Eater or Auror could have discovered him. They'd know he was back.

There was no official warrant for him; that he knew. But a renegade former Death Eater in the aftermath of the war knew not to trust the illusion of safety so easily. As he walked along the fence with caution, Draco stared up at the invisible shield that supposedly protected his property. He could trust neither Death Eaters nor the Ministry, and with enemies on both sides he had had to watch over himself. Tonight was no exception. Lightly, Draco trod through the grass field, making an effort not to crunch the leaves beneath his feet too loudly. There was urgency to his stride, but he knew better than to dart for it.

Finally, he found what he was looking for - a dented part of the fence that he recognized - and pushed aside the ivies that coated the railings. There it was: One of the less visible side gates to the manor. Draco shook his head with a small laugh. He lived there rightfully, and yet he was acting like a housebreaking burglar. Under his breath, he muttered a complicated incantation and the entrance opened inwards with a soft groan. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the barrier, and for an instant, he felt a zap of electrical charge flash through his whole body, and then it went away, immediately.

_That's reassuring._

If he weren't registered as a resident of the manor, he'd be fried up by now. The gate closed behind him with another low groan and Draco flicked his wand at it to reveal the shield's entry and exit log for the day. _Good news. __Just me. _

Hermione hadn't left before he returned,_ or tried to _and got burned to death. Either way it was good news.

The lanterns along the pavement came on one by one as he headed home. Safe within the bounds of his estate, Draco relaxed and smiled inwardly. He knew that the fence's protective charm showed a façade of an abandoned mansion to the outside world; no one would know that a soul lived there unless they caught him on his way in or out. As the front door came into view, Draco slipped a hand into his cloak for his wand. His fingertips stroked against a warm metal object at the bottom of his pocket and he paused, looking down at the fine piece of jewelry that he had acquired earlier that night.

It was a golden locket, a very old one too.

_Acquired_ might not be the appropriate word, Draco thought. More like,_ stolen._ The people withholding the locket probably had not been happy to find it missing. Then again, Draco hadn't been there to see the expressions on their faces. He merely did what he had to do, and left, as quickly as possible. There was a casualty or two, but they'd live. It was irrelevant to him for now.

He clicked the locket open and recognized the woman in the photo within, though she was much older in reality. Her long slick dark hair was tied up into a bun at the top of her head and she had a smug smile on her face. Add a few wrinkles and she looked exactly like the elderly woman she had become. Make her features a little rougher and she looked exactly like her son. Draco chuckled to himself. _That bastard has his mother's eyes._

Somehow, that thought made him sad, especially because he noticed that the glass covering the photo was smashed, quite pitifully. He almost closed the locket then, except it turned inside out when his fingers brushed against the glass surface. A second photo that had been hidden beneath took him by surprise.

This was a younger girl. The photo was also more recent, not black and white like the other. Draco moved closer to a lantern to inspect it in the light. In the picture was a very vexed teenaged girl with short jet-black hair and light green or blue eyes. He wasn't sure about the blue or the green colors, the photo was too faded to say either way. She also had blue or green highlights at the tips of her short spiked hair. The girl looked nothing like the elderly woman in the front photo and Draco was sure he'd never seen her before, except when she smiled – which she did, just once, in the minutes he was standing there examining the photo – then she suddenly seemed familiar, though he couldn't remember where he'd met her before. Her timid smile seemed utterly out of place on her rebellious appearance. It was a rare moment that the photographer had captured, and the owner of the locket had kept it on him all this time.

Draco returned the locket to his coat pocket, smiling to himself now that he had leverage over the owner that he hadn't known before.

_I suppose that was worth risking my life for after all._

He pulled out his wand as he had originally intended and flicked it at the front door, opening it with a loud creak.

"I'm not sure where she went, Master..." Symon confessed as soon as Draco walked through the front door and undid his blood-soaked cloak. The house elf goggled at the pooling red at Draco's feet for a moment and almost lost his train of thought. Recognizing that it wasn't his master's blood, he came to and began explaining how he had been sure that Hermione wouldn't leave. Draco could care less about the blood stains on his shoes; he was already rushing down the hallway to the living room as Symon lagged behind cleaning up after him. He finally caught up and said one final spell to clean the hem of Draco's trousers as he turned the corner up the stairs.

"Where did you look?" Draco asked angrily, bounding up to the second floor two steps at a time. _T__his day is never gonna end, is it!_

Symon quivered in fright, hearing that outrage in his voice. In these moments, Draco sounded awfully like his father.

"A... All the rooms she'd known before, Master. All the ones on the second floor and all the ground floor rooms... Shall I go through the guest rooms again?"

Draco stopped dead then, his voice suspicious, "So you haven't looked upstairs yet?"

"The... the third floor?" Symon cowered, "Not yet, sir... Mistress Hermione had never been up there befor—"

"But, she doesn't know that, does she?" The trademark smirk graced Draco's lips now, and Symon knew that the young master was no longer angry. In fact, he seemed to have guessed with confidence where they could find Hermione. And he was already heading up another flight of stairs.

Symon had no idea what Draco was getting at. After all, there were still some basic things about Hermione that he didn't know about. And Draco was pretty sure if Hermione Potter nee Granger would get stuck somewhere in this mansion, it would have to be that room on the third floor.

xxx

_LIBRARY_

Draco wondered, as he often did, why this particular room and a few others in the mansion had special nameplates for them. Possibly they were the oldest rooms in the house - he had no idea - but for once he was grateful for the signs. Hermione could have easily found this room without knowing it was there. He opened the door to the library softly. The lights were off, except in a corner of the room where a reading lamp stood erect. He found her in his favorite reading spot, his spot reserved for leisure reading, and he smiled at her baby-like sleeping face. Her flowy sienna and black strapless dress pooled around her seat, the colors matching her wavy brown hair draped over her shoulders. She seemed at peace with books surrounding her. Really, she fit right in.

Draco was glad that she had found this room. He might not be able to offer the comfort she needed, but at least his books could. Pulling out his wand, he whispered softly so as not to wake her,_ "Locomotor... book."_

A simple incantation, and the history book on Hermione's lap floated into the air. A bookmark flew out of nowhere too and tucked itself between the pages she had been reading. Draco carefully picked up the sleeping woman and carried her in his arms, while the book continued to float and followed them out into the hallway. He glanced down at her beautiful face as he paced through the dark hallways of the third floor, noticing details like her fluttering long eyelashes and her even breathing. A wistful smile touched Draco's lips. If only he'd known better when they were Head Prefects together, so many years ago. Maybe he would have held her like this in a different circumstance. He felt a jab to the chest; an air of melancholy surrounded her even in her sleep. If only he knew how to make her laugh openly again, like he once did.

On the way down the stairs, Hermione stirred.

"Hey," Draco said softly as she opened her cloudy eyes to look up at him. She looked rather confused about where she was, and it took her a moment to register that she was in his arms. Before she could gasp or say a word though, Draco had put her down on the floor, gently, and she looked as if she'd forgotten what she was going to say.

They were outside her room, she realized, and the door opened automatically for her. "Ow, oh," she turned to look as the floating book nudged her in the shoulder and floated past her into the room, settling itself neatly on her bedside table next to her flu medicine and personal belongings. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back to Draco, looking rather bewildered and self-conscious, "I'm sorry, I must've been heavy."

Until that moment, Draco was feeling rather downcast and a little solemn, but with her apology he burst into laughter, "You're kidding, right?"

It made Hermione's heart skip a beat, hearing him laugh so genuinely. He'd been so serious all day, the contrast in him made her smile a little. And then she almost cried out, for he had put his arms around her and picked her up into the air, "You're so light, Hermione."

His smile curled up to one side so deviously, she had to hold her breath, especially because he had pressed her up against his upper body. His warmth made her feel giddy, and he was looking up at her from within her bosom, with her hands resting on his broad shoulders... _God, he's way too attractive up close. _

She wanted to avert her stare, but she didn't want him to notice how flustered she was either. Draco on his end, was finding it hard not to just carry her off to his bedroom right now. The way her long wavy hair cascaded onto his face reminded him too much of their one night together. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, and he found himself grinning sillily. "You took a shower?" he asked as he put her down onto her feet again.

His question reminded her of the memory she'd only recalled that evening, and then she thought her heart would stop, for Draco didn't wait for an answer. Instead he pulled her close, until their chests were touching, and he breathed in the scent in her hair - like they were lovers, like he wasn't invading her personal space. And he paid no attention to how uneasy she was. She was about half a head shorter than him, her soft hair brushed against his face pleasantly, and her smell reminded him of that night in the shower too. He was smiling when he pulled back from her, though his hands stayed on her waist.

"You smell like me," he teased her.

She felt blood rushing up to her face with his comment. _God, he's enjoying this!_

And he was. It was high time for Hermione to feel the same way he felt around her. He'd missed her so much, how was it fair that she couldn't even remember how they'd fallen in love? Besides, he was distracted by how welcoming her lips were, especially as she was nervously biting her lower lip now - Oh, he'd missed seeing her do that,_ a lot_ - And the sensuality in his voice didn't escape Hermione as he leaned his face close to her neckline, "I like it..." he whispered hotly. Her body tensed up and words rushed to her lips, "Draco—"

He knew the concerns in her mind without hearing them. Despite so, he gave in to the temptation, with a small compromise: He kissed her on the forehead instead. She lost her tongue then. The touch of his soft cold lips lingered even as he moved away from her. She knew without a doubt that she was all red in the cheeks now. He'd kissed her twice today. Hermione thought she swore to herself earlier to keep a distance, and she began to feel the need to do so, when he caught her off guard with his words this time.

"So do you remember me now?" he asked, one hand casually in his pocket as he leaned against the doorframe with the other, as if nothing had happened. He couldn't quite wipe that mischievous smile off of his face though.

Hermione inhaled consciously, unnerved by how easily he changed his attitude. It was infuriating. Absolutely maddening. And somewhere in the back of her head, Hermione remembered that she had always felt this way about him. He knew exactly how to taunt and tease her, and he loved doing it. She fumed a little, though she couldn't help but smile too. There was something so cheeky about his attitude, something so utterly charming in a way that made her hate him. Besides, she wasn't going to lose her composure again; she'd embarrassed herself enough today.

"It seems... that when I'm here I get flashbacks," she said, focusing on the question he'd asked her and not on his still-taunting-smile. She noticed that his smirk became tender at her words, and she nearly shied away when he reached out to her face and stroked her cheek. Such small movements, such subtle changes... and they were making her heart race.

When she smiled at his impudence, Draco felt warm inside. _I'm glad,_ he wanted to tell her; but he didn't need to. She knew, and he knew that she did too. He still didn't say anything as he glided his hand down her arm and took her hand in his, holding it between them. He took her other hand too, lacing his fingers in between hers.

She had to fight the urge to squeeze back in that comforting warmth.

As she stood silent in anticipation, unsure as to where this was going, she became transfixed by his icy grey eyes under the dim lights of the corridor. They were icy and clear. Clear and sincere.

She didn't know though, that Draco saw in her eyes remnants of the same clarity. Once in their past, Hermione had been uncertain what to do with her feelings for him too. But she had loved him without the profound sadness for Harry, or the cloudy confusion from a memory loss. Regardless of what others thought, to him, what they had once was an untainted love, for she had looked up to him from within his arms with those clear brown eyes, loving him without doubt. He gently stroke his thumbs against her soft tiny hands and sighed deeply, nostalgic for a past that could no longer be.

As for Hermione, she was entranced by the way his eyes shined and his lips curled up a little while deep in thought. It was awfully sexy. And it broke her heart, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't even know what he was thinking about. Cruelty had defined Draco's personality in the many years they went to school together, but the man before her was anything but cruel. It would be foolish to assume he couldn't be vicious if he wanted to be - just a moment ago he was giving her a mild dosage of it in the form of teasing - but his kindness was new to her. Yet it wasn't new to her.

"This really is confusing," she spoke out loud, looking down at their hands linked together.

Draco's grip on her hands tightened just a little in concern, "What do you mean?"

She gently returned the squeeze, and her chest heaved as she felt her old feelings for him resurfacing. Everything about him still screamed of seduction as it did many years ago. It would be easy to blame her attraction to him on his physical appearance - Draco Malfoy was handsome all right - but it was really his refreshing candour that spoke to her. For he was audacious and unpredictable, lacking respect for personal space at one moment and unbelievably attentive at another. She didn't feel pitiful around him, she felt like a normal person. She felt safe.

She hadn't forgotten his question. "I remember you to be such an angry kid in school," she answered, chuckling at memories of their playful and not so playful banters at Hogwarts. They were so young then. Draco smiled when she laughed. It was a tiny laugh, but it was still a laugh.

"Oh, I was angry, for sure," he said with a smile, thinking of the last fight they had, when she had discovered his newly acquired Dark Mark. Merlin, that was a mess.

She smirked like he would, and then she looked confounded again, "But then, the you I know now, and what little memories I have of you from two years ago..." Draco noticed how her eyes wandered to the floor as she spoke, as if she were unsure whether to say what was on her mind, "You're... you're incredibly..."

"Incredibly?" he nudged, smiling softly now, wanting her to say the rest.

"...kind," she whispered softly, cautious not to awaken the Hermione who had loved him once, the one who was trying to break through the suppressing spell and the grief that still consumed her. Between their entwining fingers was both a love long forgotten and a growing tranquility that had little to do with their past. Whether Draco was once attractive or not, the one standing before her was charming in his own way, calming her turbulent feelings and stirring it up all together. Had she ever felt this way about Harry? She realized she had asked that question before in her life.

"Can't I be cruel and caring at the same time?" Draco asked, breaking her from her trance. He released one of her hands and stroked her hair, "You're quite a confusing one yourself," he smiled when she shuddered again at the touch of his hand, "I thought you'd never let me touch you again after this morning."

She felt embarrassed and wanted to pull back, but knew it'd be hypocritical for her to do so now. She also remembered how she had raised her voice at him during her outburst, and how graceful he had been despite so. She felt rueful, and her gaze fell to her feet, "I'm sorry for shouting at you. That was uncalled for."

"Don't ever be sorry for being honest."

He was smiling, taking her chin gently and pulling it up so she'd look at him.

She wished it didn't feel so natural for him to touch her like that. It made her heart flutter more than her conscience would allow it to.

"If anything, I'm glad you finally let it all out."

She smiled sadly in response, "Nothing I do will bring him back though."

He stroked her face again, answering rather brusquely, "No, it wouldn't."

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes at his frankness. But he didn't stop there, now wrapping his arms around her as he spoke softly, "I wouldn't say I knew Potter very much, despite how often we bickered."

She chuckled there then. Merlin, had they fought.

"But I don't doubt that he liked it better when you were happy."

She leaned her head against his chest now, tired from fighting the comfort he kept offering her, both in his honesty and his encouragement. She needed it so badly. She wanted it so badly.

"Will I ever be?" she asked from within his arms, her question barely above a whisper as she clenched her fists onto his button-up shirt. She wasn't sure herself.

"If you let yourself, yeah."

She snuffled and smiled, turning her head upwards to look at him. It was a genuine smile, so genuine that Draco felt his heart throb at the sight of it. And he panicked silently, for he didn't want her to see in his face how sorely he longed for her. He'd pounce on her right now if it were appropriate. _Damn it, would it ever be appropriate?_

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said as he leaned into her forehead and kissed her again, effectively hiding the expression on his face from her view. This time, Hermione didn't flinch, though she wondered why he turned away so quickly after the kiss, as if he were suddenly more embarrassed than she had been.

It couldn't be, could it?

xxx

The silky sheets felt cold and pleasant against her bare skin, but Hermione tried to sleep to no avail. She could blame it on how much she'd already slept that day, which was probably true too, but what distracted her more were those hauntingly beautiful grey eyes that she saw even when she closed her eyes. Draco had left for bed many hours ago, yet his presence seemed to remain with her.

And the bed was so wide and empty, Hermione felt small lying there alone in a sea of velvety blankets and pillows. She questioned whether she thought of him right then because she was wallowing in loneliness. Her increasingly apparent attraction to Draco seemed out of place with her grief. She sighed and rolled to her side, clutching onto a pillow. Harry's last words to her hovered in the stillness of the night, mercilessly filling up every corner of the room. The air seemed to thicken until she could barely breathe, and her heartbeat pounded against her chest. The faint moonlight shining through the window suddenly seemed loud and intrusive, and Hermione covered her head with the pillow, wrapping all the blankets around her.

Darkness, that was where she found her only comfort. That was where she could safely mourn by herself. Or at least, until yesterday that was true. Now Draco occupied that space, and she felt guilty for having felt secure and restful in his arms.

In the bedroom across the hallway, Draco was thinking about Harry Potter as well.

He wouldn't cry for Harry obviously; there was never a traditional sense of friendship there to justify such weeping. But there was a certain emptiness there after losing his long-time archenemy, especially one to whom he was bonded by a fondness for the same woman.

One would think that with him gone now, Draco would be relieved. Yet the void Harry left behind manifested itself in the grief of the woman they had both loved so deeply, and Draco found no joy in his rival's death. He'd never thought he'd mourn for the insufferable Potter. But the truth was, well, he did. Though it took him some time to come to that realization.

That time they had a drink together in Paris - the usual spar of words notwithstanding - had Draco realizing that he wasn't the only man suffering in their love triangle. Though he'd hate to admit it, he had identified with Harry's strife that night, and empathy was the first step to friendship.

Too bad, that friendship never began. It could have been an interesting one, though Draco would rather be forced to vomit slugs before he imagined it too thoroughly.

As he lay down in bed, the uncertainty of whether Hermione would stay any longer than she needed to loomed above him. He knew her well enough to understand that she disliked relying on others. Or should he say that she lacked the habit of doing so?

And there was more to Draco's disquietude. It wasn't just her grief that made her seem so different from two years ago. He could tell, from subtle differences in her mannerisms, that she didn't hold the same feelings for him the way he did for her still.

Draco saw in his mind how his feelings for her had always continued, like a straight line, from the first day he had acknowledged his feelings for her. For Hermione though, he understood that whatever she felt for him right now, it was a maze at best. She didn't understand why he was so devoted, why she'd blush so furiously around him. She didn't yet trust her gut instincts, even though she was obviously attracted to him. And he pondered that, maybe, to her, maybe Draco Malfoy was nothing but a faded memory in her past, quite literally. And that last thought was so overpowering, so thoroughly unbearable, that Draco had to shut his eyes into a deep frown to prevent unwanted tears from streaming.

He tried to control his heavy breathing, suppressing a sob that was threatening to erupt into the open. He loved her. He really loved her. He'd given her up for the choices they both made in their lives, and he blamed no one. They weren't meant to be in that place and at that time. He understood that. He accepted that. And yet, now, when she suddenly seemed attainable, she seemed so far away again. His frustration was understated.

Finally managing to calm down a little, Draco opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling board of his bed.

_Maybe a couple glasses of wine would knock me out. _

He needed all the help he can get to fall asleep now, and so he got up and threw on a light cloak to go down to the wine cellar. As he walked pass Hermione's room, he stopped briefly at her door.

He thought he had heard her crying, though it was so muted, he could have mistaken. It seemed to him that she had heard him and purposefully muffled her voice. Draco sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth at her door. Normally he was a decisive man. Even if the decision was a poor one, at least he could make up his mind. When it came to Hermione though, sometimes, he just didn't know what to do. Oh, he'd still tease her, and still act all haughty, but even that front was getting harder to keep up as time went by. Especially when she was crying. And she wasn't even crying because of him. What was a man supposed to do?

Draco thought back to the carefree days when he and Blaise would amuse over girls without ever getting emotionally attached. He could hear in his mind his pal's mocking laughter. _Merlin, when'dya become such a sappy dog?_

Laughing self-depreciatingly at his own imagination, he walked away from Hermione's door. Blaise was such a twit sometimes, Draco hated to admit that he missed him.

He knew he was being impatient, and that his frustration had little to do with her feelings. Rather, it was his own inadequacy that was driving him insane. Was there nothing else he could do, other than to offer her a place to stay?

No longer feeling like wine would be enough to sedate him to sleep, Draco wandered on to the other side of the second floor corridor instead of turning down the stairs to the basement.

He hadn't been to this part of the house in a long time. The door to the room at the end of the passage was wide open, and he walked right through it. He knew this particular room intimately, having once spent as much time in there as he had in the library. In the furthest end of the room was a walk-in closet that reached the ceiling. The door creaked noisily when he opened it, and he choked on the dust that gushed into the open. Even Symon hadn't got around to cleaning this part of the house. It'd been abandoned for that long now. Inside, Draco found the thing that he had thought would be there, still waiting for him, coated in dust.

It was heavy, substantial. At one time, it had been well taken care of. There wasn't even a visible scratch on its smooth wooden surface. Draco wiped off the fine powder with a hand cloth that he had found in another shelf, and admired the hand-crafted beauty that came up to his chest when he stood it up against himself.

After cleaning its surface, he reflexively removed it from the cabinet and pulled a chair to the center of the room where a circular rug lay. He then sat down with it between his knees, forgetting how late it was to be doing this now. He didn't care. It was better than drowning himself in alcohol.

"Damn, it's been a while," he licked his lips as he popped his knuckles, "Let's see—"

xxx

At first, Hermione thought she was hearing things because her eyelids were heavy and her head was spinning. "God, this fever..." she grumbled, blindly groping for the medication Symon had left her at the bedside. After failing a few times, she mustered up enough energy to poke her head out from beneath the pillow and sat up. She smoothed out her night gown and combed her hair into a ponytail to get it out of her face, attempting to feel more pleasant.

It didn't work. She still felt groggy and ill. God, _I really should stop this crying._

And then she heard it again, a deep echo from somewhere in the house. She strained her ears to hear as she twisted open the potion bottle and swallowed a spoonful of its contents. There, again. A melody starting and stopping intermittently. Feeling slightly better as the medicine brought her fever down, she slipped on a pair of slippers and threw on a cardigan. She wondered what Draco was doing, for she knew that he hadn't returned from wherever he had headed earlier. She hadn't heard his footsteps returning since.

Hermione followed the rich melancholic sound through the dark manor, hearing a few measures played smoothly, and then stop abruptly, going back to repeat the same part again, playing a little further each time. It didn't sound like a recording. For all she knew, someone was playing the cello live. But, it couldn't be. Violoncellos were a muggle invention.

At the dead end around the corner, she found Draco in what seemed to be the music room. He was sitting under the moonlight that shown through the ceiling window, with his legs apart, playing a large musical instrument that rested on his upper chest on the higher end and between his knees on the lower. Indeed, it wasn't a cello. Though Hermione surmised that it was the magical equivalent of one. It was as tall as Draco was when he was sitting, the hand-carved neck just above his head. In silence, Hermione watched his hand pull the bow back and forth with bewitching fluidity as his other hand moved along the fingerboard, fingers trembling now and then to create a full and expressive vibrato. It seemed that he had finally remembered the full piece, no longer stopping and replaying parts of the song at short intervals. Hermione realized she'd forgotten to breathe, utterly mesmerized by the strength and agility Draco displayed in his performance. He seemed so completely absorbed by the instrument, it was questionable whether he had noticed her watching at the door.

"Master hasn't played for a very long time."

Hermione turned to her feet in a startle at the voice. Symon was standing right beside her, without her knowing when he'd appeared. He looked up at her with— what was it that shone in his eyes? Awe? Excitement?

"Since when?" she asked softly, so as not to disturb the soloist in the room.

Symon responded solemnly as he twiddled his toes, "When Master Lucius passed away."

Hermione parted her lips slightly, though she didn't say anything. Instead, like Symon, she turned back to watch the man who was sitting under the moonlight, playing music with such an intensity that it broke her heart. She had forgotten that Draco had lost his father not too long ago. She wondered whether he'd stopped playing out of grief.

_"Will I ever be happy?"  
__"If you let yourself, yea."_

Was he talking from experience?

The music had stopped without her noticing. Hermione had had one hand supporting her chin while deep in thought, and now she looked up and saw that Draco was staring at her from across the room. He looked rather shocked, though it wasn't clear whether it was because of her unexpected presence or simply a response to his own impassioned playing. She suddenly felt embarrassed, like she was caught in the act of snooping around. Hermione also noticed that Symon had left subtly; it made her wonder if she'd imagined him being there in the first place.

"Hey," she said awkwardly, resting a hand against the doorframe as she crossed over the divide between the room and the corridor.

It took Draco a moment to collect himself; he was still breathing heavily from the intensely engaging experience.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I..." she felt embarrassed again, knowing he'd heard her earlier, "I had a hard time sleeping anyway."

He chuckled, almost looking a little relieved, "Me too."

She smiled back, relieved that he didn't say anything about her crying. Wrapping an arm around herself, she walked into the room. Her eyes fell onto the beauty he was holding, and Draco looked down at it too.

"Never seen a lyra before?" he asked, opening one arm and motioning for her to come closer to see it. She walked into the moonlight, her shadow casting moving silhouettes on Draco and his instrument. He looked up at her and she noticed a glint in one of his eyes in the pale light.

"Have I?" she asked, smiling sadly.

He saw how the moonlight shown through strands of her hair. She looked tired, tired but still lovely.

He answered gently, "Not through me, no."

He looked entranced, entranced but self-assured at the same time. She felt ticklish again under his intent gaze, and she began to wonder how confident he really was under that appearance. And she wondered about Lucius' death again, and how Draco had coped with it.

"I haven't played in ages. It's a surprise that I still remember how to," Draco was saying as he slid his left hand fingers down the strings to the bridge of the lyra. Hermione had heard of medieval lyras before; they were the ancestors of many European string instruments, but had mostly ceased to exist in modern days. It wasn't too much of a surprise to her though to see them survive in the wizardry world. Wizards cherished tradition more than muggles, and the Malfoys were one of the more traditional families to boot.

"You'd be surprised what you can remember from muscle memory," she commented, remembering her first bike ride after years of not even seeing a bicycle while studying at Hogwarts. That was an exclusively muggle invention.

"Is that how it works, for you too?" Draco asked, looking up at her meaningfully.

She understood the hidden question. Exhaling deeply, she sat down on the carpet at his feet, "I think so."

For a moment there, Draco thought to say something very inappropriate, something along the lines of, "Then I must take you to my bedroom right now." But he stopped himself in time; though he did smile to himself at his impertinence. As downcast as he could be, he was still his cocky self.

Instead he said, nonchalantly, "That's good to know."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow, "You're thinking of something inappropriate, aren't you."

He burst into laughter, "There's no fooling you, is there?"

"I saw you simper," she replied, grinning now, "God, you're still such a perv."

Draco leaned forward to her, holding the lyra against his chest as he did so and raising an eyebrow at her suggestively, "That's assuming I've made amatory advances to you before."

"Do we really need to doubt that? You've kissed me thrice today."

"You've been counting."

Her face reddened, "It wasn't appropriate."

"But you liked it," he said, grinning cheekily now.

She responded a second too late, "No I didn't."

"You're bad at lying, Hermione."

She turned away, her cheeks ballooning up a little.

Draco just smirked and sat back, looking too comfortable for his own good. She felt the urge to slap him across the face; not to hurt, just to show him that he wasn't the only one with so much sass.

"I wouldn't mind helping you remember."

She whirled around and gave him a dangerous look.

"I'm just being honest with you," he said as he began to tune the lyra.

The few chords he played were soothing and Hermione loosened up, remembering that he'd been waiting for her for two years now. And he was still waiting.

Draco smiled at her, less impishly now. He really was just being honest.

"No kissing though."

He grinned, "Not unless you want me to."

She scoffed, "You and your humor."

"I'm not joking."

"And I'm not either, when I said no kissing."

He smiled, "I know." _T__hough I wonder how long that would last._

He could already recognize the way she looked when she was in doubt. She hadn't forgotten that she was attracted to him. Whether it was the past Hermione or the present one, that was the question.

Draco played a few more chords then, trying to take his mind off the possibility that Hermione wouldn't fall in love with him. And she watched him silently near his feet, now lying on her stomach on the carpet, with her chin nested in her folded arms. It was fascinating how graceful this man was when he was playing, and yet the words that came out of his mouth was often risque at best. It was this constant contradiction in his personality that drew her to him, she realized. He must have always been this way, for he seemed completely comfortable with teasing her and being sweet to her at the same time. For the first time that day, Hermione was curious of what she had forgotten about him not because he'd forced her to remember, or because something triggered a memory in her. It was purely because the man before her intrigued her, and that thought itself was intriguing. She was getting lost in the music when Draco stopped abruptly and looked up at her.

"It'll come naturally," he said, without context.

She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows puzzlingly.

"Like you said, 'You'll be surprised how much you remember,'" he said as he started a new song with a lighter tone than before.

Sometimes, it seemed to her that he could read her mind. She nested her head on her arms again, comfortable in the presence of him and his music. He gave her a quiet mind, and she welcomed the peacefulness.

"Thank you, Draco," she said dreamily as she began to doze.

He looked up to see her sweet smile, the smile he'd missed in the past years, and he inhaled quietly.

* * *

**Author's notes: **If there were a cello piece I would ask Draco to play... it'd be undoubtedly Bach's Suite No. 1 in G Major. Check out The Piano Guys' version if you have a chance. Amazing.

Please review! - M.


	29. Home sweet home

**Chapter Twenty-nine: Home sweet home**

_

* * *

"Sometimes, I wish I'd learned a more casual instrument."  
"Too formal for _you_, Draco?"  
"Just because I was born a Malfoy—"  
"Fine, fine..." she smiled at his mock defiance, "Do you know what a guitar is?"  
"A... what?"  
"I think you'd like it."_

The last full week of April arrived with a sultry breeze, foretelling an early summer. Hermione had stayed with Draco for a little under a week now, getting used to her new surroundings and company that didn't seem all too unfamiliar to her. Though still uncertain as to whether she was overstaying his hospitality, even Hermione couldn't deny that they were beginning to fall into a daily routine that was slowly becoming the new norm.

Every morning, a refreshing fragrance of blooming flowers would invite her to a stroll in the garden, and she certainly enjoyed her restful afternoons in the library every day. On days when Draco stayed at home, they'd have supper together, often unwinding in the music room afterwards as he played a song or two while Hermione listened. The music was soothing for her and cathartic for him. It was a time of the day that neither felt the need to speak. Any awkwardness between them suddenly seemed trivial, and they felt at peace in each other's company.

There were aspects of her stay that did frustrate her though, particularly as she became more aware of Draco's questionable errands. He was awfully secretive about his trips away from the manor, and when Hermione asked, he simply shrugged off her concerns. As the week progressed though, and as Hermione felt strong enough to walk all day in the forest and back, she became visibly more unsettled. Draco noticed this over breakfast one day as he sipped coffee and watched her from behind the Daily Prophet.

There, again. She'd glanced up at him momentarily, and then down at her ham and eggs, picking on the yolk absentmindedly with her fork. It was clear that she wanted to say something, but she was holding back. It was so unlike her. Giving in to curiosity, Draco folded the newspaper and laid it on the table before him. Apparently she had realized he was watching her too; she was no longer prodding at her plate.

"What is it?"

Hermione looked up from her food uncomfortably, but she didn't respond. The troubled expression on her face told him what was on her mind though, and Draco realized why he was so agitated. He had been deceiving himself that they could continue to ignore her life outside the manor, that she would stay forever with him. She hadn't been outside – the _real _outside – in a week.

Of course she wanted to know what he did away from the manor. She wanted to go out there, too.

Draco carefully chose his words to conceal his turbulent emotions, though his body betrayed his disquiet by leaning too close to the table.

"Do you want to visit Potter?"

Hermione nodded and smiled a little, thankful that she hadn't needed to ask, and that he had put it so gently for her. Draco nodded too as he looked down at his hands to hide his disappointment. _Of course._ She had been at the graveyard day and night for two months. She was healthy enough now to go there alone if she wanted to. The only thing stopping her was... well, him. He'd put the fence up there.

The topic had been sensitive, and Hermione had had a hard time bringing it up. Draco might have thought that he was hiding it well, but the pain was evident every time she talked about her lost husband. And as frank as Hermione was, mentioning Harry's grave wasn't the most cheerful thought either. It reminded her that he was dead and gone. Yet it was about time that she got a hold of herself. She needed to go. Draco understood that.

_But dammit, I wish I didn't!_

"Are you leaving then?"

She looked up at him again at his question, surmising that he meant "leaving" as in "leaving permanently." He didn't reciprocate the gaze even though he knew she was looking at him. In fact, his eyes were still fixed on his hands at the table. What she should say wasn't what he'd want to hear. Draco gathered her lack of reply meant that she would, indeed, leave the manor, but he also remembered how reluctant she was of returning home. Where would she go then? Her avoidance was not sustainable, that was clear. Hermione was wondering the same thing too as she sipped from her glass of milk to evade the awkward atmosphere.

"I have one request," he said presently.

"Anything," she said, putting down her half-empty glass with a clink. She thought she might have sounded too eager, but he did deserve her honesty.

"I want to take you somewhere afterwards, and you have to promise to come with me, wherever it is."

It wasn't what she had expected. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You're not going to tell me where?"

He shook his head and sat back in his seat, grinning a little, "It's a surprise."

xxx

"I'll wait here."

Draco said as he fell back a few steps behind her at the gates to the cemetery. They opened up with a loud rusty groan, beckoning them to enter. Hermione looked back at the gateway and turned back to him again, hesitating to cross.

"It's okay... I don't think he'd want to see me." He smirked, just a little. She smiled slightly too at his sarcasm, knowing he'd only said so because he knew that she wanted to be alone.

Hermione wasn't so sure herself though, whether she wanted to be alone. After having been away for so long, the graveyard seemed so forbidding and lonely. She was brave enough to go without anyone before, why feel this way now? A week or so with Draco, and suddenly things didn't seem quite the same anymore. She was growing soft, she knew.

Or maybe it was because Draco and Symon had reminded her how it felt to be cared for. It was hard to go back to being alone after that.

But that was where Harry dwelt now, wasn't it? Somewhere lonely and lifeless.

That thought gave her the courage to take a step forward, and another, and another... And as she slowly climbed the hill, Hermione noticed the blooming flora and buzzing summer insects that weren't there before. The cycle of life was revealing itself before her: vegetation growing from the remains of those who have passed, fauna feeding on the plants that have grown. She stood for a moment in the murmurs of nature, soaking in the reality that life goes on whether she moved on from Harry's death or not. The flowers and grasses were all growing so happily on the hillside, the bugs busily going about doing their business... Was there a blissful heaven for those who have left too? Hermione hoped so, for Harry's sake.

As she drew closer to his tombstone, she was surprised to find that it had been recently weeded and wiped clean. She even brought a cloth and a bucketful of water for the purpose, but now she could see that someone else had recently visited and did her job already. There were daisies and an assortment of freshly picked flowers on the gravestone, and she recognized that they were from the Burrow's beautiful garden. Ron and Jenny must have visited recently. It made Hermione smile a little to know that she wasn't alone in this struggle, and it surprised her that she had never thought of it that way before. Maybe her ability to see things in a positive light now, however little, was a result of spending time with Draco, and she smiled to herself again.

_If you let yourself, yeah._

She knelt down and touched the new grass growing at the feet of the tomb. For better or for worse, in the short time they had lived together, Draco had spurred the change in her attitude towards her life without Harry. It made her sad, to think that she could possibly move on. But she was grateful too, even if it were just for her mental health's sake.

At the foot of the tomb was also a single white tulip with a red ribbon tied to the stalk - red like the one streak of highlight in Layla's hair. Though Layla never told anyone, Hermione knew the meaning behind the single flower. The young Auror never forgave herself for having lost sight of them in the last battle.

Despite her empathy for Layla, the flowers Hermione brought today didn't have meanings of grief or sorrow as they had in the past. She had many a times brought marigolds, purple hyacinths, white poppies and others she could think of that represented her bereavement. This time, Hermione wanted to be hopeful, hopeful for a peace of mind that was still not entirely conceivable to her. She laid down roses with the most delicate blush of pink, a bouquet blooming with gentle gratitude.

Not for killing himself, no, she would never thank him for that. It was for having been kind to her, despite the miserable lies they'd told each other and themselves for so long. A marriage of lies, but a sincere friendship since childhood nonetheless. She had loved him. Whatever that meant to her, Hermione kept it to herself.

From across the cemetery, Draco watched as she closed her eyes and quietly spoke to the departed. He suddenly had a strange thought, wondering whether she would mourn for him so attentively if he were to die one day. He wasn't sure whether he pictured himself dying old and happy, or prematurely, but the thought sent him shivers all the same. For some people, dying young was the unthinkable, always a surprise when it'd happen. For Draco, getting killed was a possibility too real to ignore. Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he jingled the gold locket that was still sitting there, and he became lost in thought. He'd been reading a lot about heirlooms lately, including the one that was currently in his possession, and he frowned at the memory of having failed at saving his closest mate despite his best efforts. Would he ever do anything right? Looking up, he saw that Hermione was walking towards him now, looking... content? Possibly? He knew it was just his wishful thinking, hoping that the smallest things he could do for her would ease her pain, and possibly, just possibly, have her fall in love with him. It was such a foolish thought, he knew, but Draco was too arrogant to admit that. She'd loved him once, why wouldn't she love him again? But then he was worried, worried that there was no space for him in Hermione's heart, or why would she leave him right now?

"You ready?" He presented his arm to her, concealing his discombobulated thoughts with a stern face.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she placed a hand on his arm.

_So observant._ The way she was peering into his face told him so. He'd really done a poor job at disguising his glumness. Draco dismissed her concern quickly before she could ask further.

"Nothing. Now close your eyes."

She reluctantly complied, still uncertain as to how pleased she would be with this surprise destination. And then, they disapparated.

"Where are we?" she asked as soon as she felt solid ground. Her eyes were still closed, Draco noticed, and if anything, more tightly closed than before. It was a rhetorical question on her part, he realized. The smell of the place must be so familiar for her. There was no way she didn't know already.

Draco released her grip on his arm and held her hand gently as he whispered in her ear, "You know it better than I do." And to be sure, Draco had never been beyond the door in front of them.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the dimly lit corridor outside her apartment. She knew it so well, so well, and yet it felt so foreign after weeks of evading it. Instinctively, she turned away, but Draco held her hand tight and stopped her. Apparently, there was more than the purpose of comfort to holding her hand.

"Don't run away," his tone was firm.

She turned back to look at him in the eye, obviously upset by his obtrusion.

"Why are you doing this? There is nothing in this for either of us."

Everything, even the smell, the air and the precise memory of what was beyond that front door was crying out to her, begging for her to return. But she refused. It was so painful to be back here.

He admitted that there was nothing in it for him, in a way. "I don't want you to leave the manor, that's true."

Tears were welling in her eyes as she glared at him. She didn't understand.

"But," he continued, "I don't want to keep pretending you'd stay forever."

She looked away. He was right.

"I don't want you to keep hiding from the truth either."

What truth? She wanted to ask, for the sake of being defiant. But she feared his answer, knowing what it would be exactly, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Hermione, you can't avoid this place forever. It's your home."

Her head drooped, hanging on its own weight as she felt all her energy leave her. He was right. Of course he was right. Draco, gathering that she had finally given in, slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bronze key.

She glimpsed at his open palm and snarled, though not too viciously, "You went through my belongings."

"Only because I knew you wouldn't come if I asked."

She sighed as she took the key from him.

"Fine," and she pushed it into the keyhole on the door and turned the key, "you win this time, Draco Malfoy."

Draco grinned at her dismissive attitude. _Now, that's the Hermione I knew at Hogwarts._

The door opened with a high-pitched squeak. When that supposedly familiar sound actually took her by surprise, Hermione knew that she hadn't been back in too long. As soon as the door slid inwards, the pile of letters heaped up behind it toppled over and spread across the floor.

"Well, that happens when you don't return home in a while..." she murmured to herself. Still, she didn't move from the door.

"Come on," Draco ushered from behind reassuringly.

Hermione didn't know whether to hate him or to thank him. She took a deep breath and stepped through the doorframe into her familiar living quarters. Now that she had crossed that first hurdle, her feet automatically took her through the room. Following her, Draco looked around curiously at where she had lived. It was a cozy apartment, with a built-in open kitchen to the left and a sitting room to the right of the entrance. There were a few more rooms that he couldn't see from where he was, but Draco already knew that it was bigger than his tiny apartment with Blaise in Paris. In fact, it was just the right size for a couple like the Potters: cozy, but enough room for personal space, something Draco had learned that Hermione needed from time to time.

Draco also noticed that the place was decorated mostly by her, with dried flowers at the windows and book shelves in every corner, from the tiny ones underneath the side tables at the sofa, to a full-sized one against the wall going into what looked like a study. There must be more books in there; Draco had no doubt about that. What struck him most though, was a sense of abandonment.

Maybe it was bad to bring her back, Draco began to think. In the faint afternoon light that was coming through the half-drawn curtains, the apartment looked painfully depressing.

He recalled his own experience after his father died and his mother left with Bellatrix for their country villa. There was no one to come home to except Symon, and Draco hadn't had a very amicable relationship with the house elf back then. In those days, he had often locked himself up in his own bedroom, pondering why his family had left him behind with the worst tyrant of all time. And though things were quite different for Hermione, Draco sympathized with her refusal to return. Home was an empty place without those whom you loved.

Realizing that he had been distracted by his own thoughts for a while, Draco got worried that Hermione might have left without telling him. When he turned around to look for her though, she was still there, and as a matter of fact, just as distracted as he was. Quietly, so as not to disturb, he walked up to her and looked down at the handkerchief she had taken off a cabinet shelf. She was silent and still, though her fingers trembled a little as she unwrapped the fabric. Concealed within was a broken object that Draco immediately recognized.

"I just couldn't bury these with him," Hermione said softly, her fingers gently touching the shards of glass and metal frame that were once Harry's glasses. She remembered the way he polished his glasses every time he felt uncomfortable. Those small habits... she couldn't forget them. She didn't want to forget them.

"There're many things I couldn't let go of," she said as she looked up at Draco, a sad smile on her face.

He nodded, fully understanding, "Mother kept Father's cane too."

She raised her eyebrows a little, surprised to hear Draco speak of Lucius.

"It's okay not to let go of everything," he continued quietly as he lowered his eyes to the shelves adorned with Harry and Hermione's photos from various occasions. There were photos with their friends at the Quidditch World Cup, graduation photos and a photo of their wedding too. Draco was particularly jealous of that last photo. They looked so happy in their wedding attire, it reminded Draco of two years ago, when he and Hermione had their brief moment of happiness together.

"You never let go of everything," he said as he turned to her.

His words echoed in the room, and she stared at him as he stared back at her. Hermione heard mixed messages in his words, though what was most clear was that he knew what came beyond the initial grief better than she did. And though she only understood it vaguely, she felt reassured that Draco had pulled through, despite it all. Sighing, she wrapped the handkerchief around the broken glasses again to put it away. Hermione knew she'd look at them again another day; but for now, for today, she would move on, however small a step it may be. Draco began to turn away too, looking at the rest of the apartment.

"Ah."

He turned back to her at her cry. She had dropped the wrapped handkerchief and was holding her finger, clearly having injured herself. Quickly, Draco summoned the lights in the room and got up close to see what was wrong. A red bead was growing on her fingertip.

"I'm alright," she said hurriedly as Draco took her hand from her grip, "it just stings a little."

He shushed her and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing the cut gently and inspecting it for glass fragments. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. Draco raised an eyebrow at her odd reaction.

She laughed again, "I'm sorry, it's just that my mum used to do the same thing, and she'd always kiss my_—_" she stopped mid-sentence in shock, for Draco had took her finger up to his lips and kissed her wound. She turned red to the roots of her hair and quickly drew her hand from him.

"I said no kissing!"

He smirked at her outcry; and she turned away from him, quickly casting a wound-healing spell on her finger.

"You asked for it," he responded cheekily.

She refused to argue with him, though clearly still steaming.

"I just thought it'd remind you of your mother more," he even dared to add.

_Yea, right!_

She glared at him as he walked away, and he said, "It does feel better now, no?"

He really knew how to push all her buttons. Hermione scorned loudly as she went to the front door and picked up the letters scattered across the floor. Under her breath, Draco heard her say thank you, and he chuckled to himself. _So stubborn, and yet so adorable. _

He was in the kitchen area now, and she too walked up to the kitchen counter where he was, saying absently as she flipped through the letters, "There's one from my landlady... must be the rent. Another one from Ron— What are you doing?" She looked up in time to see him mutter a few incantations consecutively.

To Hermione's bewilderment, an assortment of fresh vegetables and seafood, condiments and dried pasta appeared on the countertop.

"What do I look like I'm doing?" Draco asked in return, now rolling up his sleeves and pinning them in place before reaching out for the peppers and onions. He also flicked his wand at the sink and water began running from the tap. Immediately, the shrimp, scallops and fish rinsed themselves in the cold water.

"I mean," she was at a lost, dropping the letters onto what little empty space that was left on the counter, "Where are these from, and _when on earth_ did you learn how to cook?"

Draco laughed, "The food's from the manor kitchen, obviously. I can't walk around in broad daylight, now can I?" He looked around and found the cutting board and the knife holder, instantly _accio_ing the appropriate tools as he continued, "And what did you expect from a man who had to survive without his house elf for more than a year? Blaise didn't know how to cook, someone had to learn."

"Blaise... Zabini?" she hadn't known that they had lived together. The memory of her encounter with him in Paris came to mind. Right, Draco had been in France too, or at least that was what he had told her. She didn't even know until recently because Harry had kept it a secret from her. She wondered what else she didn't know. For instance, where was Zabini now?

Draco's face darkened at her inquiry, or so she had thought, because he sounded normal when he responded, "Yea, he was spoiled."

Perhaps, he sounded just a little too normal.

"Where is he now?" she asked, testing the waters.

He responded as soon as she started, "I'll tell you another day." And that was final.

_So snappy._ Hermione pouted. But then, she had snarled at him earlier as well when he hit a sensitive spot. _Maybe he has his reasons too._

As Hermione returned her focus to Draco, she saw that he was chopping up the vegetables now, though with nothing near the grace he displayed when he played on his lyra.

"I see that you're self-taught," Hermione noted out loud as she pulled her hair up into a bun. Now that he had started already, there was no reason to sit back and watch.

"Hey!" he sounded so offended, she almost believed him, except he was smiling, "give me some credit for trying to make this fun for the both of us."

Hermione smiled secretly as she turned away to find her apron, and Draco glanced at her back longingly. He liked it when she pulled her hair up like that, especially the strands of stray hair framing her face. She looked so unintentionally seductive.

When she returned, Hermione found that he was having some trouble at the cutting board, especially with the onions. Taking the knife from him, she laughed, "Go rinse your eyes, silly."

Draco dropped the onion bulb immediately; his eyes red and watering. As he blindly stumbled towards the sink, he confessed, "Okay, I'll admit. I'm a horrible cook, and I was betting on you knowing more than I do."

Hermione chuckled again before she began to swiftly chop up the vegetables into perfectly uniform slices, "Once you feel better, take one of those for the pasta." She pointed at the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling.

Draco had heard her, and he felt better now for sure. But he still stood there in awe, marveling her masterful handiwork. When she scaled, sliced and cleaned out a full fish flawlessly, he blurted out without thinking, "How do you do _that_?"

His reaction was priceless; Hermione only grinned in response. As his staring continued though, she couldn't help but laugh, "Stop staring at me, you're making me nervous!"

Complying unwillingly, he _accio_ed a large pan and a large pot off the wall to the stove, all the while glancing back to see what magic Hermione was performing with just her bare hands. _So absurd, _Hermione thought as she shook her head and laughed quietly. Draco was cooking with her, in her kitchen. Even Harry stayed away from cooking if he could help it. And here was a spoilt aristocratic brat, trying to learn how to cook from her.

Hermione decided that she'd teach him properly some day; he was so talented in Potions, there was no way he wouldn't understand the chemistry of cooking too. She barely noticed that only half an hour or so ago, she had dreaded to come home. Now the entire apartment was filled with the rich aroma of spice and seafood. It felt lively, a place that someone could live in.

As Hermione sautéed the vegetables on a frying pan, she wondered to herself whether this was within Draco's plans too, to make her comfortable in her own home again. Glancing to her side, she watched as he stirred the pasta in the bubbling pot, occasionally picking up a strand or two to see how cooked it was. _Such a formidable man. _To use even his lack of skills to his advantage. If this had been his plan to become an indispensable part of her life, he was surely succeeding. Hermione couldn't imagine how she would have survived if he hadn't come to her. Life would be less interesting, that was for sure.

_Or _came back_ to me, I suppose,_ Hermione thought to herself. Draco didn't seem to be familiar with the layout of her apartment. He was asking her where the plates and utensils were earlier, and now he was excusing himself to the bathroom briefly, not knowing where that was either. So this had to be his first visit. Where did they spend time together then? The manor? That felt right. But there was somewhere else. She couldn't remember where.

"Is this good?" Draco asked, bringing her back from her daze. He was holding up a wooden spoon with the pasta sauce he was making. Hermione leaned forward and took a sip. It was tangy and flavorful, and she smiled delightfully.

"You should give yourself more credit with your cooking. I like it."

Draco looked so pleased in contrast to the days when he would be cold to her without reason, Hermione beamed too. That old Draco seemed to have disappeared to nowhere. He liked spending time with her now, she suddenly realized.

It wasn't that she never knew that he did; it just never fully registered with her until just then.

As she rinsed some cucumbers for the salad, she stole a furtive glance at him. Draco was too busy straining the pasta and adding it to the sauce he'd just made; he didn't seem to notice. The way his lips formed a straight line when he concentrated was endearing. A strand of hair hung from his ear as he leaned forward, and his forehead glimmered a little in sweat from the heat in the kitchen. Hermione wiped her brow too with her sleeve. Maybe it was just the heat, but she felt warm and happy next to him. Hermione had always admired men who could cook. Now, "man who could cook" is a relative term here, but it didn't make him less attractive that he was trying.

Looking down, she noticed the Dark Mark on his exposed arm, glaring on his pale skin. Unlike the last time she paid attention to it though, Hermione felt an unspeakable sense of regret. A vague memory of the first time she discovered his Dark Mark came back to her, and her hand unconsciously reached out to touch the tattooed arm. Draco looked up at her questioningly and looked down. _Shit, _he thought. He had been more careful on other days, hiding his arms from her sight.

"Is this why we stopped talking to each other in our seventh year?" Hermione asked.

Draco didn't expect that question, and his eyes shone with the hope that she had remembered more about their relationship. Except that sparkle dimmed a little when he realized this memory would probably upset her; it upset him. Draco dropped the ladle to the frying pan. He sighed because he knew he had to be honest, or she'd never fully remember him.

"Yea..." he responded, his eyes drifting to the permanent and ghastly symbol on his arm. In his mind, he saw Hermione, eighteen and in her Griffindor uniform, terrified at the awareness that she was sitting next to a Death Eater. But the reaction of Hermione in the present was unexpected.

"I was a bad friend, wasn't I?"

She sounded accusatory, almost angry. Now that was a question he didn't think she'd ask. "Why would you say that?"

Hermione raised her head to meet his eye, her eyes wandering around on his handsome face. The feelings resurfacing within her was confusing, like she was both experiencing firsthand and observing the memory from the sidelines at the same time. She knew that she would have had no way to judge herself like this if she hadn't lost her memory, but because of her odd predicament, Hermione was as much a bystander as the person involved in the incident that tore their brief friendship apart in their teenage years. She understood herself in a completely different way from before.

"A good friend would have talked to you instead of walking away, don't you think?"

Draco cocked his head a little at her detachment. No, he'd never expect anyone to do anything like that for him. Why would they? Friendship wasn't something he was completely familiar with yet. But then, why did he try to save Blaise? Draco fell into a deep silence, letting that last thought sink in. He'd cared about Blaise, that was why. Blaise was his friend.

But he still didn't understand.

"I was a Death Eater, Hermione. Everyone else around you, your closest friends and yourself were fighting against the people I joined. There wasn't any reason for you to—"

"But a real friend would have," she answered quickly, "They would have made you talk even if you said you didn't want to—"

"But why should yo—"

"Because," she insisted now, the cold expression on his face back then becoming clear to her, "You were carrying a burden too much to bear," she said, as if she were analyzing someone else's life.

But the pained expression on her face suggested the contrary, that she was affected by her own words. She recalled the emptiness she had felt when Draco left her in the Prefect's study room. And the emptiness she felt now engulfed her without warning; tears flowed from her eyes. "You shouldn't have been alone. I should have chased after you."

It wasn't until then that Draco realized her flashback was so violent that she could barely contain herself, that she was recalling those same feelings she had for him back then, apologizing for her regrets. He reached out to take her in his arms, soothing her as she wept.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said over and over again, "It's okay... you already apologized two years ago."

She dried her cheeks with her arm and looked at him pleadingly, "But I can't even remember _that,_ Draco. How is this _okay_?" She wanted to remember, she really wanted to remember. He had been so good to her despite everything, it was so unjust that she couldn't even remember him fully.

Draco hushed her, "We'll figure it out bit by bit, don't worry."

They were standing so close, she could feel the heaving of his chest against her own, and his rapid breathing told her that he was just as worked up as she was. All of a sudden, Hermione wanted to be the one comforting him. She took a deep breath and squeezed him closer, calming herself down while running a soothing hand up and down his back, slowly, gently, until his breathing became even like hers. Draco too stroked her hair, her nape and her shoulders, and slowly caressed her along her back. It was so tender, so comforting.

"Thank you," he whispered, taking her chin and pulling it up so she'd look at him. His insistency felt natural. Everything felt natural. And as she became aware of how intimate they were being with each other, Hermione couldn't help but admit to herself that she loved the way he held her. She loved the way they could ignore everything but each other for that brief moment of certainty in a sea of confusion.

"Thank you for caring about me," he reiterated, "It's a rare trait."

She smiled. He liked her smile.

xxx

"Can I share a secret, Hermione?"

She nodded in reply. They were back at the kitchen counter again after dinner, cleaning the dishes and putting away the remaining food.

He took a deep breath and professed, "I still want you to stay with me, even though I want you to acclimate to your home again, I want my home to be your home too."

It was borderline a proposal, but he said it so innocently, Hermione wasn't sure if he realized it. It made her blush so hard, she was glad that the lights were turned down from earlier when Draco changed the mood for dinner.

He continued, "And besides, it'll help you remember more. If you want to remember more... that is."

His save was a little weak. When she didn't say anything, Draco regretted having spoken. But then, she responded.

"I'll visit, I promise."

He smiled as he passed her a soap-covered plate. She took it with a smile too and rinsed off the soapsuds. It reminded them of their shower together two years ago, and they fell into a bashful silence. Draco coughed superficially. They had been so sensual with each other only a while ago that evening, such tantalizing thoughts were too much to bear.

"I'll come over with you after a shower to pick up my things," she said after the last plate was rinsed off. Taking the apron off, she walked towards the inner rooms - probably the bedroom.

Draco nodded, though he didn't turn to watch her go. Rubbing the soapsuds between his fingers, he sighed in relief as he washed them off. He had been _this_ close to jumping on her. Draco wasn't sure whether he was glad or disappointed that she had walked away.

In the back of the apartment, Hermione was thinking along similar lines, though that thought quickly went away when she opened the door to her bedroom with Harry.

The bed was still untouched since the last time they slept there together - Hermione hadn't had the courage to sleep there alone since. She had slept in the living room if she ever returned. Now she sat down on the bed, touching the soft fabric of their comforter and fluffing up the pillows. She looked around the room too; it was so dusty. Living alone was a daunting thought, but she had to start somewhere... didn't she? She sighed heavily and pulled off her tank top as she stood up again. One step at a time, she told herself. She knew she could if she tried.

Back in the living room, Draco had cleaned his hands with a towel and sat down on the sofa that Harry had hated. It was such a comfortable looking couch, Draco almost yelped when his backside slammed into the rigid furniture without mercy.

"Merlin! Who bought this crap?" he hissed out loud, but just soft enough so Hermione couldn't hear. _Must be Potter_, Draco thought with bias_._

He adjusted himself so he was lying on the sofa now, hoping it would be slightly more comfortable. It wasn't. As he lay there awkwardly, staring at the ceiling, Draco heard the sprinkler come on from the bathroom.

_She's taking a shower..._

The image of her naked body made his heart pound like crazy. Draco closed his eyes and indulged himself in the remaining sensation from earlier, when she had rubbed his back and held him close. Did she even realize how arousing that was? He swore to Merlin, the next time she did something like that, he wasn't going to let her get away with it. It was way. too. seductive.

As he smiled at the different naughty ideas he had in mind for Hermione, Draco slowly dozed off—

_"Please, not Amy! Not my daughter—"_

_"Shut up," _he cast a silencing spell on the helpless woman, terrifying her even more. A high pitched laughter in the background. The tapping of a silver cane.

_"Isn't this enough?" _A distressed Draco asked the adults surrounding him.

The man beside him shook his head unyieldingly, _"You're gonna finish this, little brat. If you don't..." _He needn't say anything. Even Draco refused to glance back to the corner where their master was watching.

He looked down at the child crawling at his feet, half curled up into a ball and sobbing softly. A deep gash ran along her sweet little face, bleeding a bright red even in the feeble lights left in the room. And yet, Draco couldn't see her clearly. It was always the same in the dream. He couldn't see her beautiful face, her sweet baby face. His eyes watered, his heart wavered and his wand arm stayed down. No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't possibly do it.

_"Mummy..."_ the little girl whispered with barely any breath left. Draco's heart broke. The mother whimpered silently. The father was already 'silenced', lying motionless behind her.

No. He couldn't. He couldn't possibly— No, but—

_"AVADA KEDAVRA."_

"Draco. Draco!"

He woke up with a start to Hermione's voice, tears clouding his eyesight. She was holding him tight in her arms on the carpeted floor; apparently he had been struggling so hard that he had fallen off the sofa. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she saw how his pupils were dilated; his breathing shallow but quick. Hermione wiped his tears for him worriedly.

"What happened, Draco?" she whispered, trying not to agitate, "You were screaming when I came out... And you were in spasms..."

The image of the motionless child still haunted him, he barely heard her words. His answer was in fragments.

"Just a recurring nightmare... It's... been a while, I'm sorry to scare you."

She shook her head. Draco leaned into her bosom, which made her blush; and he clearly realized that, though it didn't stop him. Time seemed to slow down in her warmth; he felt at peace.

Hermione watched him as his breathing slowed down and he fell asleep again. His eyelashes fluttered a little, and his lips parted as he loosened up. Gently, she wiped off the cold sweat on his brow and stroked his hair. Whatever it was that he dreamt of, Hermione realized that he was even more broken than she had imagined him to be. And she wanted to understand him. She wanted to understand this man who had comforted her in spite of his own problems. And even though she had made up her mind to live alone, she found now that she was taken over by a new resolve. From the depths of her heart, Hermione wanted to make him happy.


	30. Finding Blaise Zabini

**Chapter Thirty: Finding Blaise Zabini**

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* * *

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_Only do not forget, if I wake up crying  
it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child  
hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands_

- _Sonnet XXI,_ Pablo Neruda

"Why didn't you leave?"

They were back at the manor, specifically in the library, and it had been a couple days since their rendezvous at Hermione's apartment. It was a curious question really, seeing that Draco couldn't remember anything about having had a nightmare, or reasons for her to be concerned enough not to leave. Hermione wondered if he had some defense mechanism, subconsciously blocking out unpleasant memories. The way he had been struggling in his sleep hadn't been normal, and she really wanted to bring it up, but she feared she'd trigger worse things if he became aware.

"You said you'd help me remember... didn't you?" Hermione said coolly, flipping through an interesting-looking book that she'd just pulled off a bookshelf, "Or did you not want me here?"

She slammed the book shut, almost imitating his cockiness to the dot, just almost. Draco snorted a laugh from the reading desk across the room.

"I guess I have nothing to complain," he said as he leaned back, staring at the high ceiling absentmindedly. His eyes wandered to the sky window and the clouds drifting by. It was a windy day.

"Speaking of which," he said, sitting up, "There is a place I'd like to take you—"

"This trick again? I won't fall for it," Hermione looked up from another book she was going through and gave him an impish smile. Draco chuckled and shook his head. She was so much like her old self now, all brazen and cheeky. It made him happy even though he didn't want to admit it. She'd get cockier if he did. As he went back to rocking his seat on its hind legs and turning the pages of the book he was reading, Hermione saw him smiling to himself, and she smiled secretly too. It eased her mind; at least he seemed fine for now.

"No, really," Draco gave it another try, looking up at her across the room, "It's a place we used to... spend time together."

She thought that maybe he was actually blushing, because Draco quickly lowered his eyes again. At times, his voice would trail off like it had just then, especially when he talked about their relationship in the past. And he'd seem so... diffident, so much so that Hermione felt a little shy around him too. Without a word, she returned a book she didn't want onto the shelf in front of her. Carrying a pile of books, she walked up to his desk and pulled a seat for herself. She didn't sit down though, as Draco looked up at her, looking more solemn now.

"Before that," he said, sitting straight and no longer rocking his chair, "I actually want to ask you for a favor."

Hermione straightened up too, a hand placed lightly on the reading desk.

"Is it related to what you're studying?" she asked, tapping at the books she'd just set down.

It was only then that Draco realized she had been collecting a stack of books on ancient wizardry traditions and family inheritance magic for him, and a smile touched the corner of his lips again. Her perceptiveness was relieving.

He supposed she was ready to know what he had to tell her now; Draco slipped a hand into his pocket, something Hermione had noticed he did often lately.

"So remember when you asked about Blaise?"

She nodded, watching him pull out the old golden locket. It was her first time seeing it.

"This is his," he said, raising it to her eye level. The locket turned slowly on its chain, and Hermione saw the insignia on its faded surface – the letter Z. She raised her hand to it. It felt cold to the touch.

He placed it in her hands, "It's his heartstone."

Draco noticed how her eyes lit up with recognition, and he found it odd that she knew what that meant.

"I thought you were a bookworm but... I didn't think you'd know what that was."

She smiled as she lowered her eyes onto the locket, and Draco watched as she carefully clicked it open with her tiny slender fingers.

"A friend explained it to me once," she said, her voice soft and sentimental.

She can call him a friend, right? The invisible man with whom she'd shared her miseries with, on the outskirts of Paris. Even though she never knew him. Even though she'd never know him. She turned the locket in the library's ambient light, looking at the photo of the middle-aged woman within. She hadn't known Zabini's mother, but they looked so alike, she didn't need to ask who it was.

Draco thought of his invisible friend from Paris too, not knowing that she was standing right before him.

"Why do you have this?" she asked now.

Coming to, he responded with a smirk, "I stole it."

Hermione raised a disapproving eyebrow. Draco defended himself with a chuckle, "More accurately... I stole it from the people who stole it from him."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Draco hadn't finished his story, and when his eyes became vacant and rueful, she didn't say a word to tease him. And Draco continued with some difficulty, his voice filled with regret, "Blaise was... kidnapped on Christmas Eve for this."

Hermione vaguely remembered reading about the kidnappings on the news back then. She didn't know that Blaise was one of them.

"... and I couldn't protect him before they used it."

"Used it?" she asked, looking up at him and down at the locket. Indeed, the glass was shattered on the surface of the photo, and opposite it was a dark streak against the inside of the lid. In fact, to Hermione, it looked cursed. Having read enough about heartstones in the past few days, she hated to think what could have happened to Blaise. Draco watched her bitterly; he hated to be the bringer of bad news.

"That's the other thing I had to tell you. That..." he gestured at the locket in her hand. Hermione looked up to match his gaze.

"That's what killed Potter."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes zapped back down to the locket in her hand in shock. Violent thoughts filled her mind, and she almost lost her temper, but she got a hold of herself. She knew who was to blame; she knew whom _not _to blame. Draco saw how she took a deep breath, and he dreaded her response. When she finally spoke, it was terse, like she was spitting something foul.

"_Voldemort _killed Harry."

It was true; Blaise couldn't have done anything to stop Him. If anything, it eased Draco's guilt a little, as he had been indirectly involved when Blaise was kidnapped.

He noticed though, how, only a moment after her almost hostile answer, her expressions softened very subtly, and how she looked crestfallen, the way she did whenever she thought of Harry. Draco licked his lips in unease. He wasn't fond of seeing her upset, but that hint of sadness on her sweet lips was so... bewitching. He couldn't rashly tell her that things would be fine, because he knew it'd only hurt her more. But he wanted to kiss her. Take those lips in his and let her know how much he cared about her.

"It was a blinding blue..." Hermione said abstractly, unaware of Draco's struggle to refrain from reaching out to touch her; her thoughts were still fixed on that fateful night when Harry had passed away.

"...What was?" Draco asked, his mind somewhere far away too, or somewhere really up close, depending on how you looked at it.

"Blaise's heartstone. It was a bright blue, like a sapphire," she said, slowly looking up. Draco met her eye too, and he wondered what was on her mind. There was something meaningful in the way she was looking at him.

"What's wrong?"

He only got more confused when she smiled and looked away. Taking her wrist in his hand, he asked again, "What is it?"

From behind her back, he peered into her bosom and saw that her other hand had reached up to her collar line. Draco's lips parted with understanding, but Hermione spoke first, turning around to face him.

"Your stone..." she whispered, revealing the silver ring from within her collar and raising it for him to see, "This is yours, isn't it?"

She swore that Draco's cheeks flushed up then, as if he were caught in the act of doing something really embarrassing._ She knows. _It struck him hard. She knew that he'd given her his heartstone.

"How— You— I never told y—"

It was rare for Draco to lose his tongue like that; Hermione took his hand in return, shushing him gently. She smiled again when he shut his mouth reluctantly; she understood now that he had never intended for her to know. The ring was given as a memento, one that would only work if she cared about him too. and she had. She did now too.

"Thank you, Draco... for watching over me even when you weren't there."

If she thought he hadn't been blushing earlier, now he was.

xxx

"She does look familiar..."

"To you, too?"

He was a little surprised. After all, Hermione hadn't known Blaise all too well. Hermione nodded, tilting her head to look at the second photo in the locket at a different angle. Short black hair with highlights on the tips, light eyes, pale skin, pointy chin, defiant-looking... No, Hermione didn't know anyone like this. Neither did Draco. The girl in the photo was now sticking her tongue out at them, refusing to cooperate even when they asked her for her name.

Draco glanced at the woman in front of him who was ransacking her brain for all of Blaise's acquaintances that she knew back in the day. Dangling at her chest was his heartstone, his ring that he'd been wearing since he was a baby boy, and it had protected her when Voldemort meant to kill her and Harry both.

He couldn't help but wonder if Hermione knew the deeper meaning behind that miraculous fact – especially since they weren't lawfully wedded to each other – but if she did, she showed no sign of it. It was most frustrating, but right now, they were trying to figure out who the mystery girl was in Blaise's locket.

"Sorry, I give up," Hermione threw her hands in the air, "I don't think it's someone I know at Hogwarts."

Draco nodded; he didn't expect her to know any better than he did. There was no way both Head Prefects would have missed a student with artificial highlights so eye-catching in her hair. The girl would've been sent to detention immediately.

"It was worth a try," Draco sighed, leaning back in his seat. He threw his legs onto the desk and crossed them. It was such an immodest behavior, and yet he somehow looked suave.

Hermione smiled a little and answered, "Might have helped us figure out why his heartstone was so strong."

That was another interesting question, Draco thought as he lightly chewed at a pencil he had in his hand. Say it made sense that Draco's heartstone had been strong enough to protect Hermione. In its presence, Blaise's heartstone had still managed to kill Harry, who was standing with her then. Two other Death Eaters and an Auror received collateral damage as well, heavily injured. Even combined with the Dark Lord's significant strength, it was a wonder that Blaise's locket held its own.

"Not to say Blaise isn't a skilled wizard..." Draco said out loud, half muttering to himself as he analyzed the situation for Hermione too. She noticed how he said, "isn't", instead of "wasn't." Could she assume then that Blaise was alive? She hadn't asked yet. She was afraid to know.

Draco was still saying, "But the core strength of a heartstone comes from the owner's feelings associated with a significant other... Blaise clearly didn't give her his locket," he pointed at the defiant teenager in the picture.

So who was she? An ex-girlfriend, perhaps? But Draco didn't know anyone like that that Blaise would have cared enough to keep a photo of.

"Maybe it's one of his girlfriends," Hermione hadn't given up yet either, her eyes focused on the image of the angry teenaged girl, "This bothers me... I thought I knew the younger students well. No way she was in our year. Maybe she was a Ravenclaw."

"Or a Hufflepuff..." Draco mused, staring at the ceiling again, "Though I suppose she looks too irate for one."

They both laughed. Hermione took a deep breath and sat back in her seat too, feeling a little nostalgic for the comparatively carefree days back at Hogwarts. The girl in the photograph huffed very loudly and went out of their view, irritated that they were treating her like some lab specimen to observe and analyze.

"Well, there she goes," Hermione murmured, setting down the locket on the table again, "It's quite an old photo though... unless he's been dating a teenager recently, which I wouldn't put against him."

Draco laughed quietly, stretching his back with his hands behind his head, "Definitely not a Slytherin though, I would have known her," he said with confidence as he leaned forward again, smirking, "She's too pretty for me to not notice."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Perv."

He leaned in onto the table from across her, "Jealous?"

She laughed, "You wish."

"I do."

He sounded a little hopeful, and he was looking at her with such a smug smile, she had to pretend she was looking at the locket again to avoid his gaze. Hermione wasn't sure whether she was blushing or sorry. He seemed so sure of himself when it came to her.

"So uh... where is he now?" she muttered, trying not to sound too awkward. The girl in the photo appeared again, though she kept her back to them. Hermione looked up when Draco didn't respond immediately.

He looked hesitant, almost worried. She expected the worst.

"Is he... alive?"

Draco shook his head, his eyes downcast, staring at the locket on the table between them, "I don't know... for sure. That's where I need your help, actually."

Hermione felt a little uncomfortable, not sure what exactly she could do to help him. But she leaned forward and placed a hand on the locket in his hand anyway. The girl in the photo grunted as she became hidden from the light. Hermione nodded without a word.

Draco smiled at her assent, and he quietly exhaled in relief.

She smiled back, wishing she could tell him that he didn't need to be alone, not just in this particular fight, but in general, anymore. But she still couldn't fully grasp why she was feeling so strongly for him right now, and she couldn't promise something she didn't understand. So she swallowed the thought and kept her lips pursed, waiting for him to tell her what he needed from her. Draco pulled the locket out of their overlapping hands and opened her palm upwards, placing the locket in her hand.

"I have an idea where he is," he said as he closed her palm, "I want you to verify it for me... and if you find him, to give this to him."

Hermione had read enough books with him by now to know that returning the heartstone to its owner would resuscitate them, if they weren't dead yet, that was. She also knew that deep down Draco wanted to be the one making amends with his friend, especially after having failed to save him once. She could see it in his face; and she knew he was asking for her help only because he suspected there was an arrest warrant against him right now. He couldn't walk around in public.

"I have a better idea yet," she smirked and squeezed his hand, "you'll come with me."

It was an answer that Draco hadn't expected from her.

xxx

"I don't know about this..."

"_Shush_, they'll hear you."

A passing nurse looked at her weirdly, and Hermione immediately looked straight ahead again, trying to look unsuspicious. After she was sure that the nurse had disappeared around the corner (and hopefully didn't think she was insane), she hissed at her side, "See what I told you? Just stay quiet and no one would notice."

"It's really weird, you know," Draco whispered back, making an effort not to trip over the invisibility cloak as he followed her, "I used to follow you guys, trying to catch you sneaking around in this— well... Merlin knows where you three were sneaking to with this thing back then."

Hermione simpered softly. It was a long time ago when she and her two best friends could all fit underneath that cloak together. Ron in particular had become way too tall by the time they were in their sixth year. The cloak wasn't exactly stretchable, and even Draco was barely the right height for it, only just enough to step on the hem now and then. Hermione was just relieved that his feet weren't showing.

"So how would I find him?" Hermione whispered first this time, as soon as she was sure that they were out of everyone else's earshot. They turned a corner into an isolated wing that Hermione knew was mainly reserved for special patients at Saint Mungo's.

"I don't know..." Draco replied without certainty. Despite knowing that no one could see him, he still felt rather exposed. "I suppose you can't just go asking an Auror."

And there were many of them in the next corridor they walked through, enough that it was becoming a little suspicious. No wonder Draco thought that Blaise might be held here. Plenty other Ministry patients seemed to be. Hermione could recognize some faces of old co-workers in the Secrecy department, and she knew she was able to walk through this high security area without being stopped only thanks to her fame. But it was getting rather unpleasant all the same, especially as younger Aurors, who had a good idea of who she was but no idea how she felt, came up to greet her.

"Mrs. Potter! It's an honour to meet you finally," a particularly enthusiastic one said, taking her hand without asking, and then kissing it profusely. She had to restrain herself from pulling back in disgust.

"Uh... and you are...?"

If there was hesitance in Hermione's voice, he didn't pick it up.

"Peter Figgins, ma'm," the young man stated rather loudly, "Please just call me Pete." His freckles glared on his chalky skin and his eyes glittered as if she were some sort of celebrity.

"I really admire your husband," Pete was saying as Hermione sighed inwardly. It was all too familiar a compliment by now.

"He's such a hero among us. I wish I could be like him, sacrificing his— OUCH!"

The young man suddenly screamed and began hopping up and down comically, cradling his leg as if he'd hit himself in the foot real hard. Hermione was only bewildered for a moment. Quickly, she glanced at the empty space next to Peter Figgins; her eyebrows arched in suspicion. She could almost see Draco smirking underneath the cloak.

"Are you alright?" she asked, turning to the poor oblivious man to inspect his foot. She tried not to chuckle as she wondered where Draco was standing now. Probably watching from a corner, looking smug.

"I'm sorry, ma'm, something just... I don't know what that wha-AWEEE!" This time he thrust his belly forward, as if something had tickled him from behind, and almost hit Hermione in the face. She stumbled back from him in surprise. Draco, though still invisible, was clearly pushing and prodding from all directions. Now poor Pete was doing a strange awkward jig, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as he flailed his arms. Hermione couldn't take it any longer. The best she could do was to purse her lips, and hold back from breaking into hoots of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a familiar Healer entering his office.

"It seems it's time for me to go," she said hastily as she walked away apologizing, "I'm really sorry. It was nice meeting you, have a good day!"

He didn't even have time to respond, she was gone in a second. As soon as Hermione found a quiet spot, she burst into laughter. It hurt so much she had to cradle her abdomen. Draco had apparently followed, and now revealed his eyes from a small gap in the cloak.

"Did you like what I did to him?" he asked, his eyes smiling cheekily.

"He didn't deserve that, poor thing," Hermione responded as she wiped a tear from her eye and leaned back against the wall behind her. She was still trying to catch her breath.

"He did so," Draco huffed, his eyes narrowing, "Insensitive young blokes have to be disciplined."

"Alright, alright..." she felt like she was dealing with a spoilt brat, but was thankful for his consideration all the same, "Anyway, I think I found the person we could ask."

"_You_ could ask," Draco corrected her, hiding inside the cloak again.

"I can't be seen by anyone."

Hermione nodded her head, agreeing with him; though now with him gone from sight she felt quite stupid nodding to herself. Gathering her wits and pretending that she was alone again, she walked towards the office door she had seen Healer Morhorn walk into earlier and knocked thrice.

There was some movement in the room until she knocked, and at the rapping of her knuckles, the shifting inside seemed to halt instantly. Soft uncertain footsteps approached the door. It slid open just a crack. Morhorn's round eyes peered from within and went wide at the sight of Hermione. She smiled at him.

"Hello, doctor." The familiar way she greeted him in private confirmed Morhorn who she was; he slid the door wide open and threw his arms around her.

"Hermione! I thought it was you... Oh dear, oh dear!" he cried out with such delight, Draco was a little taken aback. Draco had always had private healers in charge of his family's health issues, and he found it odd how warm this healer was to Hermione. She seemed to get lost in the healer's ample arms. Draco had never had a caring healer in his life.

Pulling back from Morhorn's embrace, Hermione gave him a full smile, "I missed you. How's Henry?"

"Good, good... Hogwarts finally finished their renovations... He's back at school now. My dear, it's been too long. Ronald and Jenny have been asking for you."

Hermione's eyes lit up at their names, and they went faint immediately.

"How are they?"

Draco noticed how her voice faltered when she asked. He remembered that she had found a letter from Ron at her apartment not a few days ago, and he wondered if she'd read it yet.

Morhorn was sensitive enough to notice her delicate tone too, and he placed one kind arm around her shoulders and took her into his office to sit and talk. Draco followed quietly.

"They're doing well, my dear... Third child along the way, growing into a proper Weasley family if you ask me."

Hermione still didn't look at Morhorn in the face, but she chuckled softly, remembering the rowdy Weasley crowd from her childhood. She'd known that Ron and Jenny were having another kid, and she felt relieved that they'd pulled through despite losing the Burrow during the war. Having such a large family was helping Ron rebuild their lives, Hermione knew. She'd read the letter from him.

"I haven't seen them lately..." she confessed as she sat down at Morhorn's desk. He sat down next to her too instead of across. This wasn't business; it was a friendly meeting.

"I wish I could face him," she continued to say regretfully.

Draco raised an eyebrow with interest from across the room where he'd leaned onto a wall; it was rare for Hermione to talk about her friendship with Ron Weasley.

"Why couldn't you?" Morhorn asked.

Hermione smiled at how genuinely concerned he was; it made her feel like she could share her problems with him at ease.

Searching for the right words, she fumbled her fingers on her lap and thought about the two months she and Harry had went into hiding. Her words came out after a long silence.

"I don't think he ever forgave us for keeping our hideout a secret from him."

Ron still felt like he could have protected them if they had trusted him.

"But you weren't suspicious of him, Hermione. And neither was Potter, I'm sure," Morhorn consoled.

"Yea, but Ron couldn't understand that it was safer for him not to know, and that it had nothing to do with whether we trusted him or not..." Hermione responded remorsefully. Her eyes strayed to the room within Morhorn's office, where Ron and she had fought countless times over Harry two years ago. The memory was coming to her slowly, but Ron's angry voice in her head was still vivid. He had reproached her then. It seemed like he never stopped reprimanding her since...

"... Since Harry and I started dating," she spoke vaguely, following her private thoughts, "I suppose from the moment we decided to have separate families, we couldn't be the trio anymore. He never got over that."

Morhorn smiled wistfully as he leaned forward in his seat and set his elbows on his knees, "Ah... childhood friends. Must be hard for him then?"

Hermione nodded, smiling a little too, "He was always the last to grow up. Not by height, no," she chuckled; Morhorn laughed too. "But he couldn't quite ever move on from the past... I suppose he's just sentimental. Maybe I'm too cold."

Morhorn smiled and shook his head, remembering her bravery and tears two years ago, right across the room they were in, in his inner patient's room.

"You're one of the warmest people I know, Hermione."

Almost simultaneously with Morhorn's words, Hermione felt a warm assuring hand on her shoulder. Draco was behind her now, she knew. And she smiled, wishing she could place her hand on his too inconspicuously. But she refrained from doing so. She hadn't forgotten her purpose of being here.

"Thank you, Healer... I actually came here today with a question and possibly a favor to ask."

"Well, this is news," Morhorn straightened up inquisitively, "What I can do for you, dear?"

"There's an old friend of mine..." Hermione began heedfully, worried about how much Morhorn should know, "who might be under custody here at Saint Mungo's."

She used the word 'custody' purposefully, and the healer clearly honed in on that too.

"A Ministry patient?" he asked warily. Though with a few exceptions like Ron and Harry, Morhorn still disliked those who worked in the government.

"I think so," Hermione replied, again carefully, "He was a classmate of mine at Hogwarts, and I recently learned that... well, he'd been a hostage when Harry and I were discovered."

Morhorn turned pale. News of these victims was limited even on the nosey Prophet; the Ministry had kept them from the public light as much as possible.

"Where did you learn this?" he sounded incredulous.

"Through some friends at the Ministry... Anyway," she diverted the topic, "I'd like to find out if he's here. And possibly... visit him."

The look on Morhorn's face told her that he was considering the risks of such an outrageous attempt. She was Hermione Potter, widow of the man who ended the war. Would the Ministry workers allow her in? Hermione might have forgotten, but Morhorn remembered clearly how she had defied Sullivan and caused uproar two years ago. He had no idea whether they'd still care, and it bothered him.

"Well, I could look through our database..." his words came out in jumbles, as he was cautious of what he was saying, "But if he were here, say... well, you wouldn't want to be caught, even someone of your caliber... These patients are still on the high security list, you know. Luckily they're taken care of next to the normal intensive care unit... I can possibly take you through... under disguise of visiting another patient, I suppose."

Hermione nodded, understanding that she was making him nervous, which would not be helpful. She tried to reassure him.

"W—I'll be discreet." She almost said 'we'; Draco squeezed her shoulder with warning just in time. His hand relaxed when the healer didn't seem to have noticed.

Morhorn chuckled at her ridiculous claim, "It'll be hard to be discreet, what with your fame. Unless you disguise yourself..." Even Morhorn knew about Hermione's conspiracy from two years ago, but polyjuice was out of question without prior preparation.

With a quick turn of her mind, Hermione suggested, "Healer Morhorn, how about we look him up first?" She could feel Draco growing a little restless with the lack of progress. "I'd be happy to at least know whether he's here or not."

Morhorn looked at her briefly and nodded. It was a reasonable request, relatively without risk.

"Alright," he got up, "I suppose there's no point debating over this if he's not even here... Wait for me here, will you? What's his name?"

"Zabini. Blaise Zabini."

The name didn't seem to have rung a bell; but then, Morhorn wasn't in charge of Ministry patients anymore. He nodded and walked towards the door to leave briefly. Hermione saw the growing frown on his face as he turned away, and she felt guilty for putting him in a difficult place. She wanted to call after Morhorn, and Draco squeezed her shoulder again when her body rose a little in anticipation. But Hermione ignored him.

"Healer."

Morhorn turned around, his hand on the door. Hermione looked straight in his eye.

"Thank you, I really appreciate your help."

He smiled now, able to tell that she was sincere. His shoulders now slumped back a little and became more relaxed, he replied, "Anything for you, my dear."

As soon as the door closed, Draco lowered the cloak to his shoulders, "I thought you were going to have second thoughts."

Hermione shook her head, "No, but I'm worried I'd get him in trouble. It's not the first time already."

"Really? What did you get him involved in last time? He seemed to be obliging."

She smiled knowingly but didn't answer. Looking around Morhorn's office, she found the door to the inner patient's room again. Hermione got to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked with concern. He didn't want her to be caught snooping around even if he were to go invisible again.

She offered him her hand without a concern, "Come, I'll show you."

Reluctantly, Draco took her hand, though in his mind he noted gladly to himself that this was the first time she had made the initiative to hold his hand. He also noticed that she was different since a couple days ago, when they'd visited her apartment. She seemed almost confident, and he wondered what happened back then that he hadn't noticed. It was almost as if she'd found her footing, a purpose to move forward in her life. And Draco wondered if going home had provoked that change. He pondered too whether he was included in her future picture.

"This," Hermione said now, showing him the sickroom with two twin-sized beds. Everything was white in the room, from the walls to the bed sheets, like a normal hospital room. In fact, it looked quite like Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing at Hogwarts. Draco didn't notice anything strange in there.

"What's this?" Draco asked, looking rather puzzled.

"This is where Harry and I stayed after that time when Mr. Parkinson tried to kill us," she said, the memory becoming even clearer to her as she said so. Draco turned to face her, surprised at how she had spoken with such certainty.

"You remember this?" he sounded skeptical; Hermione smiled meaningfully as she faced him too, squeezing his hand lightly, "Yea... I did vaguely before, but now I'm sure." she looked straight into his eyes, like she had a long time ago. Her brown eyes were so evocative, they sent a warm tingle up Draco's spine.

"I insisted to go find you... Symon stopped me."

He'd never heard this side of the story, and he wanted to know more, except a click at the door told them that Morhorn had returned. Draco quickly threw the cloak over his head, and Hermione turned back towards the door, just in time. Morhorn walked into the room, a small slip of paper in his hand.

"I didn't find any Blaise Zabini... but I did find a patient under the initials B.Z. That's an unusual initial for a family name... right?" Morhorn said, waving the paper in the air before handing it to Hermione. Draco peered over her shoulder to see too. Room 308. Their hearts pounded in anticipation. The room was on the floor they were already on; he could be nearby.

Morhorn didn't look as worried as he had been earlier either. He pointed at the room number on the sheet, "His room is around the corner and right next to one that belongs to an intensive care patient I'm taking care of. I can take you there without walking through the Ministry-supervised ward," he grinned, "Maybe this is preordained."

Hermione's eyes lit up too.

"There's still security," he reminded her. But Hermione wasn't worried anymore. She knew she had noticed this room number earlier on, and she knew where a likely security weak spot was.

xxx

"Pete?"

"Mrs. Potter!"

It was the young Auror from earlier. He quickly apologized before Hermione could say anything more, "I really don't know what took over me earlier, I—"

She shushed him kindly as Morhorn came up to her side, "It's alright, Pete... I'm sorry I left so abruptly. I had some matters to discuss with a healer. Oh, have you met Healer Morhorn? He's a healer I really respect."

Pete was just thrilled that she had remembered and said his name twice already. Morhorn and Pete introduced themselves and shook hands. Hermione wondered how the auror had missed the healer in the past months, if he had been stationed right next to the room that the healer frequented daily. Harry would have thundered him by now for being so inept at his job.

"So, you were telling me something earlier..." she placed a finger on her lips, pretending to look thoughtful, "Right, how is your job? Not many Aurors choose to work here in Saint Mungo's—"

As Peter Figgins enthusiastically told Morhorn and her all about his job guarding the Ministry patients from Death Eaters and the like, the door to Room 308 quietly opened and shut. Not even Morhorn noticed.

Once inside, Draco searched the room for spying devices. After convincing himself there was none, he slipped the hood of the invisibility cloak off his head.

Lying stock-still in neatly folded bed sheets was unmistakably Blaise Zabini. He seemed unusually motionless to Draco, who had been used to Blaise's loud attitude and equally obnoxious presence in the past. Before Draco could walk closer to see his friend though, he caught a sound at the door and immediately pulled the hood over his head again.

"It's okay, it's just me," Hermione whispered, closing the door behind her softly. "The healer struck up a heated debate with the man about Ministry and hospital politics... I excused myself and they didn't even notice."

Draco dropped his half-worn hood and sighed in relief.

For safety measure, Hermione cast a bolting spell on the door, just as a warning for themselves, in case someone attempted to open the door. Draco removed the cloak and stood fully visible before her now, "I suppose we can both get under this, if worst comes to worst."

She gave him a coy smile, "That'd be awfully cozy."

He smirked at her, "Something you secretly wish for."

Strangely, she didn't argue with him. Instead, she turned towards Blaise's bed and looked at her unconscious ex-schoolmate for the first time. Draco wondered if it was because she respected where they were now and didn't want to bicker, or because she actually agreed with him. A part of him wished for the latter. But it was only a fleeting thought. His heart was heavy with the daunting thought that Blaise might not wake, and when she solemnly stood next to Blaise, he didn't make fun of her. If it weren't for the fact that he was in the presence of his brat of a friend - though unconscious - Draco might have reached out for her hand too. He was that nervous.

"He's so still," Hermione whispered, lightly touching Blaise' hands that were crossed on his chest on the bed sheets. They weren't cold. She didn't even know why she expected them to be – he clearly wasn't dead. But his skin was ashy, grey, and utterly unusual for someone who was naturally so swarthy. She noticed how handsome and toned the former Slytherin was, something she never thought of when they were in school together. Possibly that was because Blaise was just never her type. He was too loud, and he thoroughly disliked books. That certainly didn't make him attractive to her. Draco noticed how Blaise had also lost some of his manly brawn, having shed some weight while lying there in bed for probably months now. There had been days when Blaise's vanity had annoyed him endlessly – despite being quite vain himself – especially when Blaise made fun of Draco's almost transparent complexion.

It was still painful for Draco to see his pal in this piteous state. He didn't say anything as he sat down, and Hermione thoughtfully took a step back, allowing him his space. He clearly didn't even notice. He simply watched his friend's chest heave as he inhaled and exhaled in his sleep, so subtle that it was hard to discern that he was alive. Draco thought about the night when he was rescued, and Blaise wasn't. The night when Narcissa had come to get him, but he was too weak to insist enough that Blaise should go with them too.

"Look at this mess they wrapped you in, mate. It doesn't suit you at all," Draco muttered, lightly flicking the thin insubstantial fabric that was Blaise's bed sheets. He became lost in thoughts for a moment, a deep frown forming on his brow. He pressed his temple at the top of his nose ridge with his thumb and forefinger, lowering his head as he groaned to himself.

"I didn't get to you in time. And then I left without you..."

He sounded so disappointed in himself. Hermione stood behind him in silence, her eyes focusing on his broad but now slumped shoulders... the fine hair on his neck... and how his head hung low, his hands now crossed on Blaise's bed side... She felt an instinctual urge to reach out to him, to tell him it was going to be okay and they should try giving his locket back to him now. But she knew how hesitant Draco was. He didn't want to be disappointed again.

"Honestly, it's nauseating."

The hoarse voice seemed to have come out of nowhere. Draco's head shot up and he saw how Blaise's eyes were open, as if they'd always been open, and the smug guy had a giant smile on his face. Hermione's jaw dropped too. They were so shocked; neither could say a word.

Blaise spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary, shuffling in his spot on the bed to sit up, "I didn't know you could be this sappy. I tried, but I couldn't possibly lie here another minute," he laughed.

Draco was out of his chair in a split of a second, "Blaise, you son of a—!"

"_Draco, shhhh!_" Hermione grabbed him before he could lunge himself at his friend. And just in time too, as his punch was close to hitting Blaise's face.

It wasn't her strength that was holding him back obviously, but she kept him sane somewhat. Draco still couldn't help but hiss at Blaise— he just wanted to slap him in the face.

"You could have just said you're awake!"

"And miss my chance at seeing your rare boohoo tears? No way, dude."

Draco huffed angrily and sat back down in his seat, crossing his arms at his chest tightly. He was aware that he might tear Blaise apart right now if he let his arms free, and starting a commotion like that in the hospital when they were snooping around would be unwise.

Blaise thought it interesting how Draco had been willing to be so honest and sickly sentimental around Hermione Granger. _Oh, _e_xcuuuse me, I meant Potter, Hermione Potter. And why is she here, anyway? With him? _Now the former Gryffindor Head Prefect was at the door, discerning through the mostly opaque glass whether the healer and Pete had noticed. No sign of it. In fact, Healer Morhorn might have left the scene now. Pete didn't seem to be around either. Blaise had been awake through the whole time they'd been there, and he had some idea what was going on.

"So, I'm at Mungo's now?" he asked casually, folding the sheets around him neatly as he sat there, looking as healthy as he could be. Hermione noticed though how he moved with difficulty. If he was pretending to be fine, he was letting slip now. Even Draco was beginning to notice.

"You're in Ministry custody," Draco pointed out rather spitefully. And it had the desired effect. Blaise looked utterly disturbed. Apparently he hadn't been awake long enough to find out.

"You're shitting me."

"No, not really," Hermione interjected, nodding to Draco's side, "we had to go through some trouble getting him here to see you."

Blaise saw the invisibility cloak and realized this was the real deal. He swore under his breath. Hermione frowned in puzzlement.

"You're not even a Death Eater," she pointed out, "What is it with you too and the Ministry?"

Blaise just glared at her, so she turned to Draco for an explanation. Draco shrugged.

"You ask him, I don't know what muffer, mafy... whatever that is that bothers him."

"Mafia, Draco. M-a-f-i-a," Blaise spat back, turning to Hermione now, "You're a muggle-born, you must know what that is."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, as if she were saying "_WHAT?"_ without actually saying it out loud.

Blaise rubbed his hair in a temper, "You're not in the Ministry's good books when you're related to the mafia," he explained, as if she were stupid enough to need it.

But Hermione was alarmed enough as it was. As long withdrawn from the muggle world as she was, Hermione wasn't ignorant enough to not understand how potent the combination of a wizard and a member of the mafia could be. Mixing magic with organized crime sounded almost like another Dark Alliance to her.

"Anyway, I'm here to give this back, to you," Draco interrupted, reaching into his pockets. The conversation was going at a tangent, and they were still at risk of being discovered any time.

Hermione collected her wits too. Somewhere in the back of her mind she began to wonder if the Ministry was withholding Blaise in this part of the hospital because of his family background. Other hostages had been rescued with Blaise, but none of them were in special custody.

Another probability was that they knew Blaise was Draco's friend. Clearly then, he had to be placed under surveillance.

Draco didn't immediately pull out the locket though. In fact, he made quite a strange expression, as if he'd found something unexpected in his pocket. Hesitantly, he pulled out what had been the locket anyway, and all three of them had to narrow their eyes in the blinding light.

Blaise's locket had turned into its true form - a bright blue sapphire that was glowing so strongly, Draco had to put it back into his cloak to hide the light. The stone seemed to turn warm, very warm, as if it were upset that it was hidden again.

"Looks like it knew that its owner was nearby," Hermione whispered. She passed Draco a handkerchief, which he wrapped the stone with before pulling it out of his pocket again and handing it over to Blaise. Almost as soon as the stone landed in its owner's hand, it turned back into its locket form.

"My heartstone," Blaise mouthed, looking stupefied for the first time in their meeting, "How did you... get it back?"

It was Draco's turn to smile smugly now, "That's a secret."

Blaise just sniggered at him and looked down at his locket.

"I've actually never seen my stone before," he said, still sounding rather amused, "That was brilliant."

His remark made Hermione sad, and she smiled a little to conceal her aching, agreeing with him, "It was... dazzling."

It didn't fool Draco though. And he wasn't too shy to squeeze her hand this time, even though Blaise was awake now. He knew that she was thinking about Harry. Hermione glanced at Draco, surprised to feel his warm fingers intertwining with hers. Had he comforted her like this before in front of someone else? She wished she remembered if he did. She squeezed back, and then they both let go shortly thereafter. It was embarrassing after all, in front of an old schoolmate.

It hadn't even lasted five seconds, but Blaise noticed the brief, tender gesture between them, and he smiled inwardly. _Sappy fools_, he thought. He had known that Hermione had power over Draco even back at Hogwarts, but he never really believed anyone could make Draco Malfoy, well... kind, really. He also never thought Hermione had any real affection for Draco. It was an interesting revelation, but for now he kept it to himself.

"I was sure I'd never get this back again..." Blaise said absently, holding the locket up. Hermione wondered why he didn't look inside for the photos, and she glanced at Draco, who glanced back at her too, giving her the same meaningful look she was giving him. They both knew by now that the girl in the back of the locket probably meant something dear to Blaise. Most people would check to make sure such things were still intact, but this was Blaise they were talking about. It was likely that he'd be too embarrassed to have to share. For how talkative he was normally, Blaise was a very private man.

Reaching his other hand from beneath the blankets, Blaise tried to unclasp the chain but his fingers trembled too much. It was disheartening for Draco to watch him struggle like that over a small thing as a chain. Despite how peppy Blaise could be, the effects of having his locket abused once clearly hadn't worn off. The grayness of his skin didn't go away either just because he was in possession of his heartstone now. And Draco wondered, in the back of his mind, an even more unspeakable thought. His eyes wandered to Blaise's bedside, where his pal's ebony wand lay.

"When did you come to?" Draco asked as he turned his gaze to Blaise, making it a point not to stare at the wand on the bedside table. He still avoided the real question.

"Just this morning," Blaise said, still struggling with the chain. Hermione sighed and got up then. Very gently, she took the locket from his hands and unclasped the lock for him. Stooping over Blaise, she carefully wrapped her arms around his head and clasped the chain on behind his neck. Blaise glanced up at her from her bosom when she finished, and he smiled, "You're more motherly than I imagined you'd be."

It was a compliment, but it sounded lewd coming from him, especially with him so close to her chest, and Draco narrowed his eyes at his mate. Blaise noticed his friend's jealousy, and he just smiled back smugly as he hid the locket in his shirt.

"Maybe you sensed your heartstone," Hermione suggested as she stood back again to sit down, completely oblivious to their silent squabble.

"Maybe," Blaise replied thoughtfully, "I'd like to think so."

Draco nodded, his eyes far away staring outside the window. He recalled the passages he read about the side effects of heartstone abuse. He struggled to decide whether to ask Blaise about his magical ablities, and whether they had... dwindled. He couldn't ask. Hermione sensed his abstraction and wondered what he was thinking about. She'd read those same books too, and remembered Draco pointing it out to her and worrying over it. She glanced at Blaise's wand then. It was too early to say whether he could use magic still or not. Blaise probably didn't know about the side effects. She wondered if he should be informed right away, but Draco decided what to do first.

"Blaise, you should know the side effects... of what happened."

As soon as he looked up, Blaise looked down at his hands. He'd known, they realized.

"And if it's affecting you—"

Blaise looked up again promptly and frowned. At first, Draco thought it was because of what he was about to say. But Blaise's eyes narrowed significantly, watching over their shoulders, and to his horror, Draco heard them too - the tapping of shoes against the hard floor, rushing of footsteps. He shot a look back, his suspicion confirmed by moving shadows behind the door. He stood up without a second thought, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her off her seat with him.

"Draco, wha—" but he clamped her mouth shut as they shuffled to the far side of Blaise's bed. Unbolting the door with a spell, he flung the invisibility cloak over them both, just in time. The door to Blaise's room opened abruptly and a line of aurors and healers stormed in.

Hermione had to bite onto her own fingers to fight back the scream in her throat. She was absolutely terrified, and it didn't help that Draco's body was pressed tightly up against her own. Her heart pounded out of control as he pulled her even closer and held her head against his chest. They instinctively crouched behind the bed at the sight of so many aurors, which in this case, was absolutely relevant. For walking through the door among the rest was Alastor Moody, with his omnipotent glass eye.

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**Author's notes:** Rare cliffy for you ;)

**Please review, will be back soon with more****!**


	31. Personal grudge

**Chapter Thirty-one: Personal grudge**

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Following who looked like their commander, the aurors moved into the room, two at a time, efficiently and aggressively forming a semi-circle around Blaise's bed. Their wands were not raised, but ready at their sides nonetheless, and the hostility in their faces made even the healers cower.

It was fairly obvious which team was leading the operation by now. Withdrawn and hesitant, the medical team stayed at the door and huddled close to each other. Only one of them entered further into the room, looking somewhat more confident than the rest. Hermione recognized him as one of the young and confident rising healers of the hospital, a highly respected one too; except right now he looked rather uncertain of the operation at hand. Certainly he hadn't been informed much ahead of time.

There was no sign of Healer Morhorn amongst them, Hermione realized. She wondered whether he'd been apprehended, but her concern for him was all too brief. The head healer had moved aside for the rest of the aurors entering, and whom she saw next quickly dissolved all thoughts for her healer friend into fear for Draco and her own life.

Leading the second troop was Mad-Eye Moody, now in his late sixties, and still at his job. The veteran auror was as unsightly as ever, his face twisted by the multitudes of curses endured in his earlier years. With dignity he carried his war injuries, for he was utterly unconcerned for how others perceived him. His heavy cane announced his arrival with each step, and his wooden leg dragged along with a pronounced screech that threatened to split everyone's head in two.

When Draco's nails dug into her arm, hard, and forced her to tear her eyes away from their imminent danger, Hermione wasn't prepared for the look on her companion's face. If it were possible for Draco to be any paler, his face was paler than pale. His body was frozen rigid; his eyes staring at Moody like a cat on alert. His pupils were dilated to the point that the gray in his eyes almost ceased showing. Hermione thought that he might simply faint.

Mad-Eye was one to assault first before asking questions; it shouldn't surprise her how terrified the former Death Eater was. If the auror had spotted them, he'd probably hex Draco on the spot, and he'd no doubt hex _her_ for treachery too. A public hero's widow or not, she was in quite a compromising position right now: Being curled up in Draco Malfoy's arms under Harry's invisibility cloak would require such awkward explanations, especially in front of these people who were once Harry's colleagues.

Still, for someone who was capable of concealing his emotions even in front of the Dark Lord, Draco's reaction was bizarre. Besides, this really wasn't the time to freeze stiff in fear. She gave him a harsh nudge on the side to remind him of their danger, to which Draco responded by jumping slightly and coming to himself immediately. Without consulting each other, they crawled along the floor to hide behind the closest group of aurors that came around to their side of the room. Moody's ability to see through objects, even the invisibility cloak, was common knowledge. Neither felt the need to point out that their previous position - where the expert auror was surely headed - was the most vulnerable place to be.

When they managed to relocate without being discovered, Hermione almost released a gasp of relief. Her heart stopped fleetingly when Draco put an alert finger on her lips, reminding her that the danger was not over. Hermione was just glad that he was back to his normal vigilant self.

_Constant vigilance!_ She could almost hear her former Defense Against Dark Arts professor saying from her Hogwarts days. Except that professor had been Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise, but the point was still valid: Moody was on constant alert. All they needed was for his magical eye to turn in their direction, and their cover would be blown, right away. They couldn't be safe until they'd left the hospital, but the pathway out the door was already blocked by a horde of healers and aurors. Leaving now seemed impossible.

Draco and Hermione stayed crouching at their feet, arms still around each other with their wands out, just in case. They could only hope that Moody would pay less attention to the floor than the standing people in the room.

A grunt from the man in question caught everyone's attention.

"Unusual metabolic activity, indeed," he remarked, his voice raspy and intrigued, "For a man who's been unconscious for three months... How do you explain this, Healer?"

His eclectically blue glass eye turned a full circle as he observed Blaise from head to toe, while his natural eye glanced at the healer standing to his side and behind him.

The poor man, though trying to look composed in his immaculate healer robes, was shifting his weight incessantly from one foot to the other. He flipped through what looked like Blaise's health records as he spoke, avoiding the need to look up and meet Moody's unnatural eye.

"Well, sir..." he mumbled, "It's been rather unusual... what with the time it was taking him to regain consciousness. Except, as you may know... his strength was withdrawn significantly through his heartstone, unlike the other victims... His nurse read his meter this morning through a monitor in the office, and we were surprised to see—"

Moody left the healer talking while he walked up to Blaise, who had been coldly glaring at the auror for some time now. His movements were so quick that Blaise's reflexes didn't respond in time. In a moment, Moody had taken his arm and turned it upwards to reveal a patch sewn onto the inside of his elbow.

"The metabolimeter, hm?"

It must have felt like Moody was drilling into his head with the glass eye, seeking an explanation for Blaise's unexpected awakening, but Blaise didn't seem bothered. Much like Draco, he'd mastered Occulmency a long time ago. And now, with mock courtesy, he slowly took his arm from Moody and folded his arms, putting on his most conceited look.

That was all there was to his response.

"Healthy enough to sneer," Moody commented, his magical eye turning backwards in its socket, "Good news for us, Jamerson. He'll talk."

_Jamerson, right, that was his name._ Hermione thought as she glanced at the other senior auror in the room who had led the first group of aurors earlier. The vaguely familiar face had bothered her, for she felt like she should have known him. But now it made sense; her memories had finally caught up on her. She'd met Jamerson during Harry and her last stay at Saint Mungo's, two years ago. She didn't remember what kind of a man he was, but the way he carried himself said a lot about his disposition, especially his straight back and his tall cheekbones. They accentuated the frigid and boastful expressions on his face. Now Jamerson was nodding at Moody without a word, urging him to continue. Moody assented.

"First," he said, sitting down next to Blaise's bedside table, "An explanation for your unforeseen awakening, then we can continue with the real business."

Moody's ordinary eye stayed fixed on Blaise's face as his glass eye rolled back into place. Draco and Hermione were sure now that what prompted the aurors was Blaise's awakening, not their intrusion._ But this many aurors..._ They both grimaced, neither of them understanding why the combative stances of the aurors were necessary for a patient who'd been lying unconscious for almost a hundred days.

Five minutes passed since Moody spoke, but Blaise acted like Moody wasn't there. Draco silently commended his friend for his acting skills. Despite how enigmatic the aurors were acting around him, the cocky man didn't show a hint of unease. Hermione, on the other hand, wondered whether all Slytherins trained themselves to bluff so well. At the very least, Draco and Blaise had both mastered the art outstandingly. Blaise seemed so indifferent right now; he looked like he would die of boredom. He would've probably yawned too, if it wouldn't be too comical to so.

With time past, a thick blood vein began to pop up on Moody's forehead. His partner, Jamerson, must have sensed it too. Taking a step forward from across the room, he gestured at Moody that he'd like a shot at Blaise. Mad-Eye frowned at his colleague's subtle proposal but didn't reject it. Instead, he nodded, ever so slightly, in consent. Jamerson pulled a courtly smile and sauntered to Blaise's bedside too.

"So, how are you feeling, son?"

Unlike Moody, Jamerson almost sounded genuinely interested in Blaise's welfare. It actually caught Blaise by surprise; his brow twitched a little and a scoff escaped his lips.

"Why-would-you-care?" he finally spoke, slurring like he did when he meant to infuriate. And sure enough, Moody was ticked off as soon as Blaise opened his lousy mouth. Slamming his wooden foot on the floor with a powerful thud, he hissed, "He asked you a question, _just answer it!"_

As if he'd been waiting for Moody to lose his temper, Blaise returned with a cold stare, "Do you really think I'm foolish enough to believe you have good intentions for me, after all these years? So why should I care to answer? If you actually cared about how I _feel_, well, I'm not _feeling_ particularly fantastic, especially after seeing your faces. _So-leave-me-alone._"

The way Blaise said the last sentence struck an interesting tone; Draco and Hermione perked up a little. It was as if his words were not entirely directed at Jamerson and Moody. Blaise probably suspected that they hadn't left the room yet, but the door was still packed. It was impossible to leave. Besides, they couldn't just leave their friend behind without knowing his safety.

Someone from among the younger aurors lost it suddenly and blurted out, "You ungrateful bastard! The Ministry took care of you even though your mother's a murder suspect! You should be grateful that Mr. Moody even cared to come in and check on you!"

It was Peter Figgins from earlier, and Draco turned to Hermione and shrugged wordlessly. _Well, that explains a lot about what's going on_, he seemed to be saying; and she agreed. Jamerson was already shushing Pete, while Blaise lazily raised a hand to support his chin, his other arm stayed tucked against his torso.

"So, it's about my dear mother again?" Blaise asked with a sigh, sounding both smug and irritated at the same time, "I thought the Wizengamot had already decided that she was innocent. And yes, youngin—"

He idly pointed his forefinger at Pete with the hand that was supporting his chin, "I _am_ a bastard. Thank you for pointing out the obvious." And then he really yawned, as comically as possible.

Pete looked like he was about to explode, while Jamerson looked like he would have laughed if not for the situation. Instead the elder auror retorted, "Don't be so pleased with yourself yet, Zabini. This isn't exactly about your mother—"

"—of a wench!" Pete scowled audibly, his face red as a beet.

Jamerson placed a finger on his forehead and closed his eyes briefly. He didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"Peter," he said, without even looking at his hotheaded subordinate, "Please excuse yourself for now."

The young auror's shoulders slumped in humiliation.

"Yes, keep your dogs under control, please." Blaise snorted.

Pete's back was turned to everyone as he was leaving the room, but he was unquestionably boiling with anger.

"Pete," Jamerson said his name with finality when Pete didn't move, reminding him his orders. With commendable self-control, the young auror left the room obediently, not even slamming the door behind him.

"He's still green and hot-blooded," Jamerson defended as soon as the door closed.

Blaise smirked, "You're quite the softy, aren't you? I wouldn't have minded bickering with him longer."

Jamerson leered, "Maybe for another occasion... You know why we're here, Zabini?"

Now Blaise folded his arms again and turned away, "Don't know. Don't care."

"Don't you wonder how you got here?"

Blaise laughed, turning to face him, "Clearly you've taken me from one detainer to the next, do I look stupid to you?"

A few eyebrows in the room rose in disbelief. It was unacceptable to accuse the Ministry, as if it were an equal to the Death Eaters. Still, not a single auror spoke up; nobody wanted to be in Peter Figgins' place. Moody laughed through his nose in offense. Jamerson didn't seem as annoyed though. Instead, he sighed, as if he sympathized with Blaise's anger, but refrained from making a point of it. Hermione began to think that maybe his self-important looks were just misleading.

"We're keeping you here for your safety's sake, Zabini."

"One, Bullshit," Blaise spat, raising his forefinger to lay it out for Jamerson.

"It's true," Jamerson interrupted, "We still don't know where your heartstone is. And it'd be helpful if you gave us a sense of what we're looking for. A ring, a crown—"

"Two," Blaise raised another finger, "I don't need your help finding anything."

"Zabini. You would've died if we—"

"Three," Blaise continued to ignore him, "I don't need your protection either."

Blaise stopped there, mostly because Jamerson had stopped in the middle of trying to persuade him too. The aurors' eyes had turned cold and threatening now. Blaise watched him with callous disregard. He would've felt a little nervous if he hadn't seen through Jamerson's kind facade already. Blaise Zabini never trusted aurors. Never.

"Why not?" Jamerson asked after a while, finally breaking the silence, "Did grandpa already send his warm regards?"

Such subtle mockery. Hermione felt Draco's grip around her shoulders tighten. Looking up and glancing at both him and Blaise, she struggled to understand why Blaise suddenly stiffened at the mentioning of his grandfather. She hadn't put two and two together yet.

"I don't have anything to do with him," Blaise said through gritted teeth, folding his raised fingers into a fist and lowering it to his side. He looked like he wanted to strangle Jamerson.

"Oh, really?" Jamerson laughed sarcastically, "Pardon me, but I'm quite certain you are related to him. If nothing, by blood."

"So what?" Blaise scoffed, "Blood-traitors don't interest me."

"Well, that's news. I didn't know he married a muggle-born."

"Don't act like you don't know why. He _associates _with them."

The Mafia. Hermione understood now.

"And your father, how about him?" Jamerson's leer was infuriating.

"He's dead" was Blaise's cold reply.

"Not before he gave your mother his heartstone. The Zabinis were prominent back then... Your mother must have been thrilled to have you inherit their name _and_ their heirloom, hm? Pity your father died early," Jamerson raised his hand to inspect his nails and sighed, "I wonder how many men she's seduced since, who also died out of the blue, like him? I'm sure there're more victims than what the Wizengamot knows."

Now he glanced sideways at Blaise, who was beginning to see red.

"I think I made it very clear, to your lackey earlier, that it'd be best to leave my mother alone."

Jamerson grinned, "No hard feelings, Zabini. I'm merely intrigued. After all... you might've been a very different man if she hadn't left you in your grandparents' care throughout your childhood."

Blaise looked like he'd spit flames, "What is this, a therapy session? If so, I don't need counseling on my past, and certainly not from you."

"Don't you question why—"

"I said, _leave it._"

"We would, after you've told me what we need to know."

Hermione had to take back what she thought of Jamerson only a moment ago. Such a sly man; he knew how Blaise felt about his family and used it to his advantage.

"I have nothing you need," Blaise returned angrily.

Jamerson ignored him, "First, I need to know if you're part of senior Zabini's clan."

Blaise was disgusted, "Why now, after all these years? And of all times, now?" He glared at the healers who stood curled up in a corner, forcing them to feel guilty for allowing such an interrogation at his waking. "If you're interested in the blood-traitor's secrets, you're asking the wrong guy. Ask him, not me."

"That's not it, Zabini," Jamerson pulled a seat for himself and sat down close to Blaise, looking very serious now, "It's a matter of how much we can trust you going free."

Blaise almost howled, "So now you're admitting that you're imprisoning me?"

"If you're a member of your paternal family's clan, then yes. We have good reason to do so."

"I have nothing to do with them _mudbloods!"_ Blaise slammed his fist against his bedside table in a temper. His wand jumped up and fell back in its place.

"Yes, you do, Zabini," Moody responded out of nowhere. He'd been so quiet; Draco and Hermione almost forgot his presence. Moody raised his wand and flicked it at Blaise, flinging the bed sheets off the bed. Realizing what Moody was going to do to him, Blaise swore and slammed his hand onto his wand, but the auror immediately disarmed him and swung his wand at the defenseless man's lower body.

Blaise's legs rose painfully on their own. The spell forced his upper body to slide down onto the bed so he was lying on his back with his legs in the air now. Draco rose then, finally losing his patience; but Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, and held him close to the floor. He struggled against her grip, but stopped dead when Blaise's bare legs became thoroughly visible to him. Even the aurors let out gasps of disgust. What stretched across Blaise's calves were no Dark Marks, but the large tattoos were the infamous insignia for the criminal syndicate that had close ties to the Zabini family. Even Draco was at a lost for words.

Blaise had always worn long trousers. Always. Draco had known about Blaise's paternal family; but he never thought that Blaise was actually a part of the group that had been responsible for Lucius' death. Memories of when he learned how his father died came back to him, and Draco sank back to his feet, losing all the will to fight Hermione's arms.

Feeling his weight against her now, Hermione released her grip around him. Cold sweat was breaking out on his forehead and he was unmistakably trembling. She lifted his chin to look into his harrowing face, but Draco's eyes was far far away. Wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders, she glanced back and forth between him and Moody to keep track of the situation. She didn't fully understand the implications behind Blaise's tattoos, but it didn't matter to her right now. Her concern was for the man in her arms, who seemed suddenly so lost and troubled. However little Draco showed it, Lucius' death still haunted him. It was the worst time for a flashback.

"I knew you were initiated," Mad-Eye was grunting accusingly at Blaise as he turned his wand for a better view at Blaise's calves, twisting his legs into awkwardly painful angles.

Blaise was outraged, "I was initiated _by birth_, you moron! And don't act like you haven't inspected my whole body already when you brought me here... _Let-me-down!_"

"Actually, this is the first time I've come to see you, Zabini," Moody said thoughtfully, "Since you've been recovered from the Dark Lord, that is."

He looked utterly unconcerned for Blaise's discomfort; even Jamerson began to look a little uncomfortable where Moody was going with this.

"It's not that I didn't want to. You see," Moody was continuing, still not letting Blaise down, "I've always been curious about your family upbringing, but neither Sullivan nor Colin wanted me to deal with you. They thought I'd... lose self-control, you see, especially after what happened..."

His natural eye widened significantly at his enigmatic reference to 'what happened'. If Blaise got the reference, he didn't seem to give a hoot. And Moody continued unsparingly, "Your grandfather used to bash _blood-traitors_ and muggle-borns too. What irks me is that _both_ of you chose to associate yourself with the _filthiest_ of them for your personal gain. And I really, _really_ dislike conceited pure-bloods like you!"

Moody's eyes flamed up with such lunacy suddenly, finally forcing Jamerson to speak up.

"Alastor, please," he pled, even bringing up Moody's rarely used first name, "No personal grudges—"

_"If I had the choice," _Blaise shrieked in such frenzy, drowning out Jamerson's request, _"I wouldn't have been born to my old man's family, YOU TWISTED HIDEOUS FREAK!_"

Moody ignored them both, his natural and magical eye both staying focused on the patterns on Blaise's calves. His words in response were almost a whisper, so quietly spoken that Draco nearly missed them.

"If that's true... then after your initiation, why did you continue to follow your grandfather to his meetings? Why is that, Zabini?"

Draco's blood turned cold. A memory from long ago hit him with full force, the same voice asking him:

_But you didn't refuse to get initiated. Why is that, Malfoy?_

His thoughts were interrupted when the head healer finally decided to speak, "Sir, he _just_ woke up. I beg you to stop."

Moody glanced at the healer and stopped moving his wand for a moment, as if he were surveying what the fellow's intentions were. "Humph," he grunted again, lowering his wand finally. Blaise slumped onto the bed with a sickening crack and he let out a cry of pain. The head healer immediately ushered his nurses forward to tend to him.

Moody stood there, unmoving. He simply wiped his wand and slipped it into his sleeve, "This is why I don't trust you, Zabini. Death Eater or no Death Eater... You're no better than your best friend."

That mocking final comment and Blaise's anguished groans sent Draco off the edge. Clenching his fists, he tried to stand up again, but Hermione wouldn't let him. Draco had to shake her hand off violently to get up. But she got hold of him again quickly; and mustering all her strength, she turned his face to her so he'd look at her in the eye, and she shook her head firmly at him.

If they were caught here, right now, then they were _done for._ Blaise would only get into more trouble.

That thought seemed to calm Draco down a little, though he was still clearly incensed. He tried to exhale deeply in her tight embrace and wrapped his arms around her too, assuring her that he wasn't going to do anything stupid. Though he wasn't so sure if he could keep that promise. It was infuriating to watch others allow Moody to abuse Blaise the way he did.

It was maddening that Draco was allowing it too, himself.

"Can't believe you have the liberty to do things like this..." Blaise groaned as he pulled his upper body up and leaned against the bed stand.

He slipped, and the head healer tried to help him up again. But Blaise slapped his helping hand away, "I don't need your help sitting up, you fool. Just kick this son of a lowlife out of my room."

"We're not done—" Jamerson interjected. Blaise didn't give him a chance.

"You think I want anything more to do with you?" he scowled as he sat up violently. At the same time, he heard a pop in his hip. A deep frown burrowed into his forehead as he bit down onto his fist, trying to hold back a scream of immense pain. Numbing the pain by replacing it with another, Blaise calmed himself down until he could speak again.

"I'm leaving Mungo's. As soon as these legs are fixed."

"You're not going anywhere without my permission," Alastor Moody thundered.

"Do I _look like_ I'd care if I have your permission or not? I can leave the country tomorrow if I wanted to."

How he managed to maintain his arrogance despite his pitiful state was a mystery to anyone. His tenacity was most impressive. Blaise gave Moody and Jamerson an obscene hand sign, reminding them he was as much a French citizen as he was British. The healer cracked his joints back in place just as he raised his middle finger, and Blaise let out such a howl of pain, Hermione had to bite down onto her lower lip to prevent herself from screaming too. Tears welled on her eyes. Draco squeezed her close as he forced himself to watch his mate struggle; he could barely hold in his own.

Through heavy panting, Blaise continued, "I demand my legal practitioner, you can't hold me here."

"And allow your whole gang to terrorize this place?" Moody questioned, "Request denied."

"Sir..." the head healer pointed out rather feebly, "I think it's required by Ministry law to provide him with a legal practitioner if he requested one."

Jamerson quickly retorted, "And the law also requires Mr. Zabini to spit out information about an outlaw if he knows of their location, doesn't it, Blaise Zabini?"

Hermione couldn't believe she even thought for a moment that the man was compassionate.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blaise hissed through his teeth.

_"Don't lie, Zabini!"_ Moody snapped, a hoarse growl escaping his throat as he yelled.

"Malfoy. Zabini," Jamerson spelled it out for him, "Draco Malfoy."

Draco felt his mouth go dry at the mentioning of his own name, and Hermione gulped, squeezing the hem of her skirt with her hands nervously. Blaise just batted his eyelashes, unaffected. He'd expected the question from the start.

"What-about-Dracoo?" he slurred intentionally.

Moody didn't have the patience for all this bickering anymore. He was in Blaise's face in a flash, holding him up with just his collar, screaming, "HE MUTINIED AGAINST THE DARK LORD JUST TO SAVE YOUR ARSE! YOU MUST KNOW SOMETHING!"

"We can't let him continue to—" Hermione began to whisper to Draco, but he reached out to hold her hand, squeezing it tight to silence her. Hermione watched as he first glanced at the head healer, who looked so incredulous right now, and then looked at the rest of the people in the room too. She looked around and saw what he saw. One by one, the healers and nurses were pulling out their wands discreetly. Draco and Hermione met each other's eye, thinking the same thought:

_Almost there. Just a little longer. Just a little longer and—_

"Why are you so obsessed with the man?" Blaise asked, still hanging from his collar in Moody's hand. Despite how it was choking him, he seemed rather content looking down at Moody's horrendously scarred face from his vantage point. "Clearly he's not a supporter... of You-Know-Who... anymore... if he turned against him," Blaise continued to argue, coughing in between, "Isn't Draco in the clear then?"

Moody scowled in reply, "One good deed to save a mafia friend doesn't atone for all his sins, Zabini."

Those words stung like no other. Draco bit his lip as he found himself unwillingly agreeing with him.

Moody would've said more, but Jamerson clearly didn't want him to go into details about Draco's 'sins'. He placed a firm hand on Moody's arm and swayed him to lower the injured man. And when Moody yielded, he ushered Blaise to speak honestly immediately, "Tell us what you know, son, now. We'll let you go free if you helped us. Don't force me to use_ veritaserum_... though I doubt it'd work on you. You're using Occulmency even now."

Blaise snorted a laugh as his feet touched the ground; it didn't bother him that Moody's hand was still clutched to his collar.

"I take that as a compliment, Jamerson. It surprises even me how your glares haven't melted through my brain already... but all of that was pointless, wasn't it?" he glanced at Moody and Jamerson both, as if he expected them to agree, "Because he left me, remember? He left me, I fainted, and you found me. What more could I know?"

A loud crash. Screams from the watching healers. Moody had let go of Blaise in a fit of fury and dropped him to a far corner, not far away from Draco and Hermione. It was fortunate that Mad-Eye had been so blinded by his anger that he was throwing a fit, flinging all of Blaise's belongings across the room. The rest of the room was distracted by the commotion too, and nobody saw when Draco stood up to finally defend his friend. Nobody, except Blaise, who saw a glimpse of Draco's shoes under the invisibility cloak before Hermione quickly pulled him back and wrapped the cloak tightly around them both. He realized then that the two were still in the room, and Blaise panicked. All his efforts would go to waste if they were discovered now. Glaring sideways at the corner of the room where he'd seen Draco's legs for only a moment, he hoped it was enough for them to understand that he didn't need their pity. Masking his anxiety under a scrunched up expression of pain, he looked up at Moody again, who Jamerson had finally calmed down. There was still an inkling of insanity in the veteran auror's eye, but Blaise wasn't about to cower under his wrath even now. Especially not now.

_"Just-leave-me-alone,"_ Blaise ordered harshly through his teeth.

Everyone thought he was snarling at Moody, but Draco and Hermione knew better. They'd seen how he'd glanced in their direction, just once, and very briefly, and they deduced immediately that he had seen that they were still there. And he wanted them out. There was the perfect opening, for the commotion just now had caused the healers at the door to move into the room. They should take the opportunity and leave now. Still, the two didn't move. They couldn't just leave him like this.

Suddenly they heard another angry voice, "Ministry or no Ministry, I won't allow such abuse!"

Draco sighed in relief. It was the head healer, finally exercising his authority and taking charge of the situation. Moody's natural eye stayed on Blaise's cold face, while his expressionless glass eye turned into its socket to inspect the healer behind him.

"He was strong enough to survive a serious curse, healer," Moody scorned without turning back, "This kid needs some roughing up to get information from him. Look, he's already healing on his own."

Indeed, the gash that had been trickling blood along Blaise's cheek was healing already. Blaise wiped the remaining blood with the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow at the miracle. He knew he could heal quickly normally, but his body had been very weak ever since he woke up. Silently thanking Draco for returning his heartstone to him, he licked the blood off his hand. There wasn't a better explanation for his recovered healing abilities.

The healer though, was unyielding, just as Draco and Hermione had hoped he'd be. Throwing his arms in the air, the angry man cried out, "Such preposterous claims cannot possibly be legal!"

_"I-can-handle-myself."_

Again, Blaise said it with such a peculiar twist in his tone, but Draco and Hermione hesitated once again.

"Mr. Zabini," the head healer tried to reason, "You don't understand. We haven't inspected your physical condition yet since you've waken, not to mention your ability to use magic—"

Blaise's face turned dark with anger, and possibly, shame. He hadn't forgotten what Draco had been trying to tell him earlier before the interruption, and while his body was recovering without a doubt, he had a strong suspicion that he'd lost his magic to some extent. The healer's good-natured words cut to the quick. On top of it all, a few aurors snickered at the thought that Blaise Zabini, heir to a prominent line of pure-bloods, had turned into a squib.

Blaise couldn't stand having everyone mock him like this in public. He began to stand up; he needed to prove a point, to verify his suspicions. And the aurors reacted by pulling out their wands. But the healers didn't stand back passively this time. They too pulled out their wands, if they hadn't already, and quickly closed in around Blaise, forcing the aurors to stand back.

A blaring argument ensued between the healers and the aurors, but Draco and Hermione knew that the tide had changed finally. Attracted by the commotion, more healers were streaming into the room, even other senior ones, like Healer Morhorn. Hermione sighed in relief to see that her friend hadn't been caught, though Morhorn clearly seemed concerned for her safety - he was looking around the room searching for her. In the mean time, the atmosphere between the hospital staff and the Ministry officers became explosive:

_"Are you seriously turning against the Ministry—"_

_"—How do you expect us to stand back and watch—"_

_"You've seen his tattoos!"_

_"A patient is a patient!"_

Blaise might be a member of a muggle criminal organization, but the staff of Saint Mungo's had always lived up to their principle of "patients first, everything second." They finally came to their senses now, protecting the convalescent, whatever his background. Even the youngest healers began to act on their medic conscience; helping Blaise up and carrying him back to his bed with his arms on their shoulders.

But if there was one thing that Blaise hated, it was to be pitied by others. And it was hard for him to swallow his pride. Really, really hard. But Blaise was, whether he wanted to admit it or not, a better friend than he wished to be. He understood that it would be best for Draco and Hermione if he were to comply now. So deciding to bend his rule, _just once,_ he allowed the healers to tend to him, though not without a grunt of defiance.

Another nurse cleared off the mess Moody had made around the bed, and placed Blaise's wand back on the bedside. He didn't touch the wand. He didn't even look at it.

Meanwhile, Moody was deliriously mad; but Jamerson reminded him that this was Saint Mungo's territory, and when the healers requested a need for the patient's privacy, even the Ministry had to back down.

"Maybe he really doesn't know anything—"

Moody raised a hand, interrupting Jamerson mid-sentence. Anger replaced by vigilance, his eyes turned their focus onto the door of the room that he thought he saw moved on its own just a moment ago. Not able to apparate in this special ward of the hospital, Moody pushed his aides and the healers aside, rushing out the door and peering out an open window in the corridor.

"I could've sworn..." he said under his breath as he turned to face Jamerson, who too pushed through the crowd to follow Moody.

"What happened?"

"I thought I saw someone jump from here."

xxx

Draco and Hermione appeared and landed on the soft grass outside the Manor with a thud.

"That, was risky," Hermione gasped, still unable to believe that Draco had her jump out of a window with him, and disapparate at the same time. She gathered the invisibility cloak and wiped twigs and leaves off her hair hastily. Hermione hadn't thought they'd survive the leap.

Draco didn't say anything as he stood up and cleaned off the dust on his trousers. His lack of response compelled her silence, and they quietly slipped through the shrubs around them to one of the hidden gates. A suffocating silence took over them as Draco muttered under his breath the complicated spell to unlock it. And it wasn't until they were safe on the inside, did Hermione allow herself to burst out, "That... that was too cruel!" Her body shook with anger, remembering how Moody had handled Blaise. She turned to Draco again, but still he didn't say anything. Instead she noticed that his face was pale like it was earlier, and Hermione stopped herself from ranting.

"Are you alright?"

Draco parted his lips slightly, but then decided he couldn't answer vocally. Instead he nodded a little, though it looked more hesitant than he wanted to seem. Hermione took his hand gently.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," she reassured him, "though I'm worried about his heartstone..."

Draco shook his head.

"They didn't even know what Blaise's heartstone looked like... I don't think they'd figure it out before his gramps bails him out. Even if they did though, it's not like it's Blaise that they want..."

His voice trailed off. Draco didn't need to say who they wanted instead.

Hermione loosened her grip on his hand as they walked towards the manor. There was something draining about the thought of having Moody on their heels. _Their_ heels. She stopped, mentally, and reflected on her own thoughts.

Glancing at the man walking at her side and noticing how pallid his cheeks were still, she realized she had no intention of leaving him for dead. No, she'd hold his hand tighter instead, and stand between him and Moody, if need be, to reason the auror into believing that Draco was a better man than Moody accused him to be.

Hermione thought how her trust in Draco was strange in itself, seeing as how she had only spent a short time with him since her memory loss. But she trusted her gut feeling; and her gut feeling told her that Draco was capable of making amends for past wrongs, whatever they are. If only she could remember more of the experiences they'd shared... then maybe she'd be able to make a better judgement of his character. And then there was something else that puzzled her about Moody's perception of Draco, something that troubled her.

"Did something happen personally, between you and Moody?" she asked, carefully.

Draco's eyebrows twitched a little, and he slowed down his footsteps as they arrived in front of the manor. He didn't look at her, but neither did he reach into his pocket for his wand to open the door. Instead he stood there, looking... frozen? Hermione couldn't tell. He looked paler than before.

"I'm sorry if that was an uncomfortable question, I just..." She paused there, to examine introspectively what had tripped her. It was something about the way Draco had looked, when he saw Moody, that reminded her of a different time when he'd looked so stricken. Something about the horror in his eyes. And because Hermione was so busy trying to figure it out, she spoke her thoughts without processing it thoroughly.

"I just thought that maybe it had something to do with your nightmare."

That was when Draco came to, and he turned to her as if she'd just said something absurd. Unpleasant flashbacks pervaded his mind, and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories. But it was useless. The child lying on the ground. The anguished cry of the mother. The spine-chilling laughter that still haunted him. And the zapping of someone apparating. A croaking roar, bellowing his name.

"Draco?"

He came back to earth with Hermione's gentle call.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, rubbing his temple and reaching into his pocket for the wand, "I just... remembered things."

Hermione frowned in concern, reaching out to stop him from fiddling with the door, "Draco, what's troubling you?"

He stopped trying to open the door. Instead, he glanced down at where she was touching him softly, on his arm. It felt good to be cared for, especially by the woman he loved. Yet would she still care about him, if she knew the monstrous things he'd done? He didn't have an answer to that.

"Did I... have a recurrence in front of you?" he asked reluctantly.

She nodded, just once.

Despair slowly spread within Draco as he proceeded to ask the next question.

"What... did I say in my sleep?"

Hermione blinked, not expecting to be asked. She lowered her eyes to the marble floor, trying to remember.

"I'm... not sure. You were screaming something, a name... a girl's name."

Draco watched her reaction carefully, "Was it someone called... Amy?"

Hermione clenched her teeth, recalling the name now. She nodded a yes.

Draco sighed then, looking down at his wand and turning it to inspect it in the scattering light of the sunny mid-afternoon. It was a peaceful day. A peaceful day, and yet he felt so troubled inside.

"You want to know why Moody wants me dead?"

Well, she'd expected Moody wanting to lock Draco up in Azkaban, but Moody wanting him dead? That sounded extreme; Hermione didn't understand.

Draco could see the incomprehension in her face, so he didn't bother to wait for her reply. "It's related to my nightmares..." he looked at his wand one last time, and then flicked it at the door, "I never thought I'd share it with anyone."

The door creaked open, and he allowed Hermione to enter before him. _Ladies first, always. _In the back of his mind, Draco wondered if this would be the last time she would willingly set foot in his household again.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Reaching 90 reviews! Pretty please?


	32. Into the Pensieve

**Chapter Thirty-two: Into the Pensieve**

* * *

_I find it painful and angering to look in a mirror._ - Jack Henry Abbott, American criminal and author

The descent into the manor's underground was cold, wet, and grim. Hermione followed Draco down the twists and turns heedfully, wondering how it was that she hadn't fallen to her death over the edges of the narrow staircase already.

_Where are we going? What is it that he wants to show me?_

There were plenty of doubts on Hermione's mind, but she kept her mouth shut tight. She couldn't bring herself to ask. There was something so somber about Draco since their return to the Manor that frightened her right now. Silently, she wished that she could reach out and hold his hand - to comfort herself more than anything, really - though she didn't have the courage to try.

It wasn't her guilt for Harry that stopped her, something that would have, a few weeks ago. No, it was a more instinctive fear. After what had happened at Saint Mungo's, Draco became so reticent, almost cold and unfeeling, that he began to remind her of that fateful evening back at Hogwarts, when he'd stormed out on her after she discovered his Dark Mark.

It gave her an irrational fear that he'd suddenly leave her again, right now, in the darkness and all alone. And her vivid imagination only made it worse, sending prickling sensations up her spine. Each and every step on the cobblestone stairs seemed to disrupt the eerie silence surrounding them. The distant sounds of dripping water and whistling pipes were horribly unsettling.

Hermione thought she might choke into tears with worry. They had quite an eventful day already; the uncertainty ahead of this journey into the underground was simply overwhelming.

She cared about him.

She couldn't exactly place who he was to her, but she certainly cared about him. As she watched his back disappear and reappear around tight corners in the dim light of her wand, she realized that she cared about Draco enough, that it bothered her that there was an untouchable side of him that she knew nothing about. The_ dark _side, so to speak. And as she had the sneaking suspicion hat he was about to reveal this unspeakable side of him to her, it terrified her.

It terrified her, and she wanted badly for him to hold her hand.

Ahead of her, Draco was mentally battling himself as well. He'd taken her this far already; there was no turning back now. As he led her through the dark corridors that were all too familiar to him, Draco dreaded her reaction to what he was about to show her. Earlier, he had hesitated at the entrance above, asking himself repeatedly whether he wanted to go through with this. His hand had already been on the door handle, but it was as if his hand had become frozen on the spot. He couldn't move, couldn't open the door for at least a good five minutes. His cowardice had been so embarrassing then; Draco had no courage to turn back now.

He could only imagine how much worse it could get when she'd finally see him for who he was. And he was just as terrified as she was, though he dared not tell her _that_.

While they separately brooded over worst-case scenarios, a pair of heavy dungeon doors became visible at the end of the passageway. And they stopped, though neither of them was sure that they wanted to continue through the doors before them.

Slowly, Draco pulled out a hefty-looking black key from his cloak pocket, inserted it into the padlock on the door, unlocked it and hauled the door open. Throughout, Hermione noticed how he avoided from looking her straight in the eye; he barely even glanced at her when he moved aside for her to enter first. Whatever was beyond these doors, he wasn't proud of it.

No words passed between them – Hermione, too scared to ask; Draco, too wary to make a sound. It was hard to believe that only that morning, they had been sitting together in the manor's library, quipping away at each other. They were both thinking the same thought now: Where did that light-heartedness go?

The room within was dark as dark could be. The sound of dripping water seemed further away now. Hermione wrapped an arm around herself, wand still raised timidly in front of her. The room was significantly colder than the corridor outside. She could've lightened up her wand tip to see better, but Draco had lowered his wand at that very moment, bringing the light in the room down even further. Hesitating, because it seemed intentional on Draco's part, she thought she'd lose her nerve, when suddenly what seemed like a million lights came on all at once.

Draco had found the light switch.

"I apologize, it's one of those things... doesn't really get brighter gradually."

Hermione shook her head to indicate that it was fine. She was still seeing spots though.

Draco was adjusting better to the change, mostly because he had expected it. He noticed in the bare lights that his companion was shivering very subtly, her eyes lowered to the ground.

He wasn't so thick to not realize that his silence so far had scared her, but he didn't have the nerve to address it. Instead, he took off his cloak and wrapped it around her small frame.

She looked up at him then, her eyes still squinting. His sudden gentle gesture surprised her.

Draco laughed awkwardly, "I forgot to warn you how cold it could be down here..."

She smiled back a little, figuring that he knew she hadn't been trembling because of the cold. His clumsy apology was sweet, and his lack of composure told her how nervous he really was. Draco Malfoy was never this nervous. A faint hint of his cologne and the persisting warmth in his cloak comforted her.

She placed a hand on his lowered arm then to show him that she was on his side. He'd reminded her of his subtle thoughtfulness, and it was all that she had wanted from him. She might be nervous about what was ahead of them right now, but she wasn't scared of him leaving her any longer.

Draco felt like taking her hand as she slipped away from him. He wanted to comfort her back, to tell her that everything would be fine. But he couldn't, because it wouldn't be honest of him. It was easier to just cross his arms in front of him, and keep to himself. What was ahead of them might... disgust her. He wouldn't be able to take the rejection then.

Looking up to see where she'd gone, Draco found her wandering around the large but packed room, marveling at the various trinkets that the Malfoys kept there.

It finally made sense to Hermione why the lights had seemed so blinding at first. The room was filled with mirrors, shiny metals of silver and gold, and various other reflecting items. There were shelves behind glass doors filled with colorful potions too, and smaller valuable objects like staffs, precious stones and jewelry. So extravagant were most of the things in the room, Hermione felt lightheaded just standing among them.

What was in the room didn't reflect even a small portion of the Malfoy family's wealth, but there was a different significance to the stored objects than their monetary value, which Draco was about to explain to her. But Hermione had discovered the most significant article in the room first: The towering looking-glass that stood in the far corner, stretching all the way to the ceiling, imposing its presence.

Draco watched silently as Hermione walked up to the ornate mirror. He anticipated her reaction and saw how she instantly frowned at the strange and illogical image she saw within. And he smiled to himself, knowing exactly what had bothered her.

Hermione saw herself in front of the mirror, and Draco, and the rest of the room in the background, but she also saw reflections of a water basin and a cabinet filled with bottles of golden liquid, supposedly between her and the mirror, neither of which actually existed in the real room. Squinting her eyes to look closer, Hermione saw that the vials in the cabinet were sorted chronologically, with dates and names of each Malfoy written on them. There were a number of them with Draco and Lucius' names, a few of Narcissa Malfoy, and a whole lot more with names that Hermione wasn't familiar with, like Abraxas, Orion and Brutus. Some of the dates went back to the 17th century, and those were only the bottles she could see from where she was standing.

The vials held memories, Hermione realized, bottled memories of the Malfoys over the course of many hundred years. And the more she looked at the large basin, the more she was able to place it in her memory as well—

It was the Malfoy family's pensieve, which she had used to see her memories with Draco, only a few weeks ago. And it existed in the looking-glass, but not in the room she was in.

Puzzled by what she had seen, she turned around to Draco then. He smirked back at her, the first time he had since they'd returned from Saint Mungo's, and he walked up to her side.

"It's an illusion my great great grandfather created long ago, to protect our most secret memories," he explained as he touched the smooth surface of the mirror, "We have a lot of those, you know."

It was hard to say whether Hermione was supposed to chuckle in response, or not. She couldn't tell if he was joking or if he was serious. Probably a little bit of both.

Turning back to look at the mirror, she saw ripples spreading from his fingertips, the mirror swallowing his fingers, his hand, and then his arm, as he pressed in further. Her eyebrows rose a good inch. Draco's smug smile became all the more distinct at her astonishment.

"Only a Malfoy can summon what's behind this mirror," he said.

He also silently commented to himself how adorable she was when she looked so astounded. He liked the way her round eyes became even rounder, and the way she hooked strands of stray hair onto her ears for a better look at what she was seeing.

She was probably rummaging through her mental encyclopedia now for the charms required in creating this illusion. The spirit of inquisitiveness defined Hermione, and it was part of the reason why he loved her so much. Curious questions about the protective spell began to spill out of her lips, like, whether it was similar to the one Dumbledore casted on the Mirror of Erised. But right now, Draco placed a finger on her lips with his free hand and hushed her. Right now was the time for something else.

Removing his finger from her now-silenced lips, he immersed his other hand into the mirror too, and took hold of the pensieve within, drawing it back into the real room. The pensieve landed with a small thud on the floor, sitting between them and not a drop of its precious water spilled.

As Draco reached into the mirror and swiftly picked out a vial - he didn't even hesitate to think which one it was - Hermione wondered again what was so significant about these memories that the Malfoys did not want anyone else to access them. It didn't surprise her that the Malfoys kept the pensieve guarded so well; they were extremely rare magical items. Hermione only knew one other person who had one: Professor Dumbledore. But Dumbledore hadn't placed as much effort into protecting his stored memories. Sure, he locked them away in a cabinet, but the cabinet was simply kept in his office, not inside a mirror that required blood relation to the original spell caster.

They were storages of unwanted memories, memories that would be safer kept away in a bottle, rather than their own minds. Draco looked down at the engraved label on the bottle he'd just retrieved from the mirror:

_Draco Malfoy 10-1-1998_

The date was so clear to him still, even though the memory was vague. He felt a flood of tears forming in his eyes, and he had to take a brief moment to frown it away. He'd promised six years ago that he wasn't going to cry over this ever again.

"Ready?" he asked as he screwed the bottle open, doing his best not to let his voice crack.

Hermione took his open hand and nodded.

Draco spilled the swirling contents into the pensieve then, watching the golden liquid spiral down to the bottom of the basin and turning the vessel of liquid cloudy. He felt the impulse to pull his hand away from Hermione out of shame, but her warmth was hard to resist, especially since he was starting to shiver a little from the cold after giving her his cloak. _Just for now,_ he told himself. Just for now, he'd allow himself to believe that she might understand.

Squeezing his dearest's hand, he took a deep breath and nodded. And they dove in together, head first and eyes closed, into Draco's memory from the evening of January, 10th, six years ago.

xxx

Small white flecks were falling all around them when they opened their eyes. Hermione looked up; it was snowing.

"Where are we?" she whispered to Draco, who still had her hand. It didn't take her long to find out on her own.

It was winter break of their seventh year, the very last week before school resumed. They were standing in Diagon Alley, and the familiar clock tower showed 9:13 P.M.

The streets were mostly empty. It was late enough that most people had already closed their shops and gone home.

Looking around, Hermione saw that most stores hadn't brought down their festive decorations yet. Colorful lights still adorn their windows. Somebody was still playing Christmas carol music – they could hear it from an open window nearby – and the rowdy, merry singing of people in a close by pub told her that they were back in a more peaceful time in the magical world.

And nostalgia slapped Hermione in the face with full force.

Diagon Alley looked like how she had always secretly remembered it to be: The familiar shops that she had run through with Harry and Ron's family. Despite the looming dangers because of Lord Voldemort, their lives had been filled with laughter and childhood innocence. They felt protected, sheltered by the adults and by Hogwarts. The memory she saw in front of her was nothing like the desolate burnt down cobblestone alleyway that she knew from the war. And the recognition that things had been better once, long ago, was like a punch in the stomach for her.

She felt like throwing up. _Could I really handle this flashback? _She wondered.

"What do you see?" Draco asked; Hermione looked up to his voice.

His back was turned towards her, and without her noticing, he'd released her hand and had wandered ahead of her. Not too far though; he'd remembered that they were really still in the storage room under the manor.

Draco's question had caught Hermione off guard, but even now as she knew exactly what she was seeing, she couldn't answer. Thinking about the horrors to come, along these streets, where people who were no longer amongst them in real life still lived, peacefully, unassuming... Her stomach twisted and clenched again at that thought. Taking short, sharp breaths, she had to bend over to calm herself.

"I see snow," Draco continued to say, not noticing the trouble she was having.

The lack of passion in his words unsettled her further. There was something off about Draco, like he was far away, in his own world. He was still speaking.

"Everything is monochrome. Unfeeling..."

His words trailed off there, and Hermione straightened up and tiptoed to his side. She'd really rather curl up and go back to reality right now, but she needed to know what he was feeling. Yet under the dim lamplights, Draco's facial expressions were unreadable. If he'd noticed the tragically vibrant atmosphere surrounding them, he showed no sign of it. No, Hermione realized, that if he saw anything there at all, he saw something entirely different from what she was seeing.

He'd lived through this night, six years ago. Only what happened to him that night mattered to him. Everything else was just noise.

"They're coming."

He suddenly sounded alert, and Hermione turned to where he was looking. She saw them, the two men that Draco was referring to. They were in matching thick black cloaks, walking towards Draco and Hermione. Their striking platinum blonde hair and aristocratic bearings were easily distinguishable. Even if Hermione had been half blind, she wouldn't have mistaken Lucius Malfoy, still alive back then, and Draco, still lanky and boyish in his teenage years.

The younger Draco looked worried, but the weight of the world clearly hadn't fallen on his shoulders yet. He didn't have the deep pensive eyes that the Draco now, 23 and haunted by his years with the Dark Lord, had. Hermione recalled an important fact at that realization: This was the winter break before Draco had returned to Hogwarts with his Dark Mark.

As she tried to stomach what that meant for this memory Draco was showing her, the memory of Lucius walked right through her body, with the teenaged Draco next to him, and turned into a dark alleyway. No explanation was necessary; she turned around and immediately figured out that the two had walked into Knockturn Alley. The scene changed too.

"The Black Caldron," Draco whispered as a pub of the same name became visible before them, a look of comprehension on his face. Hermione remembered then that Draco's memories of this night were repressed, and he only had a vague idea of how the events had unfolded. Clearly though, those memories were coming back to him, bit by bit. She knew how it felt like, to discover things about herself that she should have known all along. It was confusing.

Through the pub they followed, and soon they were in a dark corner of the bar, facing a dull mirror that severely warped the Malfoys' reflections. It was strange for Draco and Hermione to not see their own reflections in the mirror – afterall, they were only visiting a memory. The younger Draco seemed uncertain why they were standing there, but Lucius seemed to know what they was doing. Pulling out his cane-wand he pointed it at the mirror and drew an invisible cross in the air. It wasn't long before the mirror began moving out of the way.

A hole appeared in the wall then, leading into what looked like a cleaning closet. Bottles of ammonium, bleach and cleaning agents lined the shelves against the walls on both sides. Young Draco held his hand up to cover his nose and scrunched up his face like he was smelling something foul. Hermione almost chuckled. How often had the well pampered boy had a sniff of chlorine bleach?

_"Rancid,"_ the young Malfoy grumbled irritatedly. Lucius grunted similarly in assent, and flicked his wand at a commercial-sized vacuum cleaner to move it out of the way and open the door.

A vacuum. That was an exclusively muggle product.

Hermione immediately understood then, and she reached out to grip Draco's hand. Like the Leaky Caldron in Diagon Alley, this pub had its portal too. They were going into the muggle world. She didn't even know that Draco had ever been among muggles before.

And Draco squeezed back. He hadn't revisited this memory so vividly since Lucius had secured it away in the mirror back then. Beads of cold sweat were forming on his forehead, but he hadn't noticed them until now. He wiped them off with his sleeve and regained his composure, holding her hand tightly. The memory was unravelling itself quickly in his head now.

"I asked him where we were," he said under his breath.

Hermione glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, surprised at his certainty. The Malfoys were talking to each other with hushed voices before them, walking into what looked like a pub in downtown London.

_"Father, where are we?"_ the teenaged Draco asked nervously.

23-year-old Draco whispered again, "He got mad at me."

Sure enough, Lucius halted in his steps and took his son by the collar, hissing loudly in his face. Lucius was clearly incensed,_ "Was it not enough that you hesitated in front of M'Lord and embarrassed me this evening? Say another word, Draco, and I'll slice your tongue off."_

The young Draco looked shaken as his father let go of his shirt and walked away. His Adam's apple visibly rose and fell as he swallowed down his fear. Hermione wanted to ask Draco what the meeting with the Dark Lord was about, but the Malfoys were already exchanging greetings with the person Lucius was expecting.

_"How're you, Lucius? This mus' be jun'r Malfoy! What a pleasure."_

The man greeting them was stout and wealthy-looking. He had a peculiar accent that Hermione couldn't quite place. Was it Spanish, or Italian? And his laughter was contagious. The man stood up from his seat and tossed a shot of whiskey down his throat briskly. He'd been sitting in one of the corner booths.

_"You be glad ta hear what my men have found, Lucius. Jus' in time too."_

He took Lucius' hand with excessive zeal as he said so, which made the elder Malfoy flinch just a little, and mutter something unpleasant. But Hermione hadn't heard what he said. Instead, her attention was still on the stranger. Like the younger Draco, she couldn't help but goggle at the riches on the old man.

To say that he was extravagant was an understatement: Giant rubies and emeralds adorned his fingers, filling every gap on his knuckles. Intricate golden embroidery embellished the collar and hem of his cloak, matching his diamond studded gold Rolex that was peering out from the sleeves of his robes. It was almost as if he were dressed up as a caricature of the wealthy; even the Malfoys didn't swagger around with their riches quite so shamelessly.

The extra fat under his chin also matched his affluent looks. Hermione wondered if she'd ever met anyone who looked so well fed. He looked like such a merry old man, it was hard to take Lucius and Draco's consternation seriously. And everyone missed the scrawny young man that was sitting next to him.

_"This's who you need, Lucius,"_ the old man said with a simper, smacking the trembling young lad in the back, _"They'd nev'r expect him."_

Lucius eyed the young fellow with suspicion. He looked about twenty at most, was average height, gangly and had mousy hair and a splatter of dull freckles on his cheeks. He looked—

_"—utterly unimpressionable. Just what we need,"_ Lucius muttered absently, _"You're sure I can trust him, Zabini? A mudblood?"_

The young Draco's eyebrows rose in disbelief, unable to accept that they were making deals with a muggle. But he kept his mouth shut, mindful of his father's warning to cut his tongue off earlier if he spoke.

Hermione was surprised too, though for a different reason. She hadn't forgotten Auror Jamerson and Moody's hatred for the Zabini family, especially the one deeply involved with the mafia.

"Yes. Zabini," Draco answered Hermione's unvoiced question sternly, "He's the grandfather you heard about from that auror today."

Lucius was still asking, _"What's his name?"_

Senior Zabini chuckled, patting the nervous lad's shoulder kindly, _"His name is not important. All you need to know, is that you owe Alberto Zabini a favor,"_ he gave the boy a less affectionate shove towards Lucius, _"He'll definitely lead you to the place you're looking for."_

Zabini's last words were ominous, while the young man's face was glum, and young Draco suddenly looked wretched. Hermione glanced at Draco next to her and noticed that he was clenching his teeth as well. Everyone seemed to know what this _place_ was, except her.

Lucius seemed to be the only one unconcerned, _"I didn't know you had influences in Britain too. I'd have asked sooner if I knew."_

For a flash of a second, Senior Zabini looked confused. He was supposed to upset Lucius, to show him who was boss. Lucius was strangely submissive, but Zabini clearly wasn't a man to be bothered with details. His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he looked comfortable again.

_"A man should have friends everywhere,"_ he snickered.

Without warning, everything around them suddenly dissolved, and Draco and Hermione were in the middle of what seemed like a forest. It was another part of Draco's memory, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that they were just in someone's backyard. The woman who was standing next to her though, almost made her scream.

_"If you think they won't see you, you're wrong. Keep your damned head down, boy!"_

It was Bellatrix, thrusting young Draco's head into the shrubs they were standing behind. Hermione thought it was a ghost, but then remembered that this was a memory, and that the deranged evil witch couldn't see her.

Yet standing next to even the image of Bellatrix Lestrange was still blood-curdling. Her crimson lipstick looked particularly savage against her pale skin in the cold moonlight; her wide far-away eyes and enormous halo of dark hair accentuated her insanity. It was her shrilly voice though, that really permeated Hermione's senses and made her shudder.

And Draco's too.

He hadn't forgotten that he'd killed his aunt. It was bizarre to see her alive, verbally abusing his younger self like this. And he'd never had a good look at her before, for fear of her piercing mental eye. Yet now that he knew she couldn't be drilling into his brain, he watched her closely, and saw, for the first time, a strong resemblance to his own mother, whom he hadn't seen in months now.

But his mother loved him; Bellatrix loved the Dark Lord. His mother would've killed to protect him; Bellatrix would've probably killed him to protect the Dark Lord. Draco wished now that he hadn't notice their likeness. It only reminded him how little he could trust certain members of his family.

The young Draco grunted defiantly and swept off the leaves that got stuck in his hair. The older Draco remembered how he'd consciously tried to close his mind around his aunt that night, and sure enough, she had to point it out.

_"Your mind's wide open, boy. And if you were going to ask why we're hiding, you should just shut up now and watch your father across the street."_

Looking across the street where Bellatrix pointed towards, Hermione noticed the young muggle from the pub knocking on the fence between two houses. They were in London's suburbia, it seemed. Close by, Lucius stood in the shadows between the street lights, watching the young muggle closely. Something else caught Hermione's eye: The house on the right of the fence looked abandoned, almost demolished, while all the other houses in the neighborhood looked well maintained. In fact, as with most of suburbia, the houses all looked almost identical. Except this one.

Something was wrong. Something was off here.

Bellatrix smirked and took young Draco's ear with a sharp tug, breathing into his ear with a raspy voice, _"That's where the child used to live, Drakie. They shifted their protection to their next door neighbor, banking on us not thinking that the child would still be in the neighborhood. There's a charm over these damned mudbloods' house, and we can't see it!"_

Young Draco didn't enjoy the ways his aunt would unleash her frustrations on him. He hated how she was reading his mind so easily as well, answering all his questions without him asking. Besides, he still didn't fully understand.

_"Why can the mudblood see it then?"_

Bellatrix had to suppress her high-pitched laughter; what came out was instead more like a teenage girl giggle. It disturbed Hermione thoroughly; the young Draco looked uncomfortable too.

_"Be-cause... my boy,"_ and she pronounced 'cause' distinctly, _"These mudbloods living here... they can't live in a house invisible even to them, can they? The Ministry didn't think we'd make deals with the filthy Italian. Though I wouldn't normally trust blood-traitors... especially Zabini and his... friends."_

She suddenly sounded genuinely repulsed, as if it wasn't her idea to get muggles involved. And her foul mood returned, _"Now, shut your mouth, Drakie, and keep your eyes open at all times. Remember what you're supposed to do?"_

Young Draco sneered silently and turned away from her. He refused to answer. _She_ was the one that had been talking, not him.

A rumbling ahead of them stirred everyone alert. A house unfolded itself into existence where there was just a fence before, and a housewife opened the door warily. Light streamed out from the house.

_"Who is it?"_

The neighborhood was quiet enough for them to hear her even from the distance.

The young muggle man came forward to stand in the light, _"Mrs. Bloomfield. It's Brian... I mow your lawn?"_

His posture was humble, and he'd clearly met her before. Mrs. Bloomfield suddenly looked relieved. She wiped her hands off on her apron and readjusted her mane of blonde hair into a bun. She looked like she'd been cooking supper.

_"Oh, Brian! I'm so sorry, I just... didn't expect you."_

She said it like she was expecting unwanted company.

_"I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,"_ Brian responded apologetically, though boldly taking a few steps closer to her front door.

Mrs. Bloomfield shook her head and smiled, though nervously, _"That's quite all right. It's just past supper time and we're just..." _she glanced behind her into the house quickly and turned back to him, _"What can I do for you? I'm sure we've paid you for this week's work."_

Brian took another step closer, now standing on her doorstep. His face was pale.

_"I, uh..."_

A middle-aged man with dark blonde hair, presumably Mr. Bloomfield, became visible through the door.

_"Brian? What are you doing here so late?"_ He measured up the young man and patted his shoulder, _"Look at you, covered in snow. Now, come in. We can talk inside."_

Brian was clearly a close acquaintance to this muggle family; Hermione couldn't watch anymore. The betrayal to come was clear.

_"I can't, sir,"_ Brian responded in a whisper, his knees shaking now.

Mr. Bloomfield smiled reassuringly, _"Young lad, please. We just made hot coco and ginger man cookies. The children would love it if you'd join us."_

Brian shook his head vigorously, his voice positively trembling now, _"Sir, I can't move from this door."_

_"What do you mean?"_ Mrs. Bloomfield asked, perplexed.

Brian raised a hand then, turning his face away disgracefully from the Bloomfields. Hermione and Draco's perspectives suddenly changed. They were standing inside the house now, and they could see that Lucius, Bellatrix and young Draco had appeared at the door behind Brian and were barging in already. The house collapsed from its outward existence the moment Brian was pushed into the house, but the Death Eaters were already inside. Mr. Bloomfield protested to no avail. He was immediately hexed pass the hall into the living room, crashing into the coffee table in front of the T.V. and bruising himself badly. Mrs. Bloomfield screamed as she ran away from the incoming witch and wizards, embracing the two small children that came running down the stairs to the noise. Hermione noticed how Draco couldn't help staring at the little girls.

_"Mummy!"_ one of them screamed, grabbing her mother's arm with her tiny hand as she held onto her stuff toys in the other. She looked ten at most, and had her mother's blonde hair and wide terrified eyes. The other girl, who looked about the same age but had short curly dark hair, bravely stood in front of the mother and the other child with her arms spread wide, protecting them. She had the most determined green eyes and a fierce attitude.

_"Leave them alone!" _she bellowed.

Mrs. Bloomfield seized the girl with the dark hair and took her into her bosom, hiding her from the strangers. _"WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?"_ she wailed. Her voice cracked in fear, and her eyes darted from the strange people in the black cloaks to Brian, who stood in the corner, shame-faced.

_"Brian... who are they?_" Mr. Bloomfield wheezed from the other side of the room, barely able to sit up from the wood shards and broken glass and ceramics that used to be a coffee table with cookies and hot coco prepared for the children.

_"I'm sorry, sir,"_ Brian responded to the father slowly and fearfully, _"They took my... family,"_ he was crying now, _"I don't know anything... Please forgive me... please..."_

Bellatrix wrapped an arm around the young man, terrifying him with her soft whisper in his ear as she raised a dagger to his neck, _"You're forgiven, mudblood."_

And then, a slash so fast that Hermione almost missed it. Brian fell dead onto the ground, face down. Blood pooled onto the thick lush carpet around his limp body.

_"In death,"_ Bellatrix finished her sentence with a deranged cackle, pulling her wand out and aiming it at the muggle family.

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**

And I'll post the next chapter soon (editing editing editing) - M.


	33. Draco's Pensieve: Nightmare

**Warning: Violence on children.**

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**Chapter Thirty-three: Nightmare**

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_I'm sorry we've been lying to you all these years... Take care of Alysia for me, will you? –_ Rebecca Moody, Christmas Eve, 1997

Hermione couldn't comprehend how anyone could so callously take a man's life in front of children, without even blinking an eye. Bellatrix's disturbing laughter was still ringing in her ears and her eyes registered the dead body on the floor, but her brain couldn't process either. It was too much to bear.

"Now you've done it," Lucius groaned from one end of the room, rolling his eyes, "Zabini wanted him alive, you know."

Bellatrix chuckled. She didn't care. She'd wanted the mudblood boy dead from the start. And as for traumatizing children, what did she care for the young of _filthy mudbloods_? She derived joy from their pain.

"You can tell Zabini to sod off. I'm sure he'd like that," Bellatrix uttered. Lucius smiled contemptuously. He wasn't all that against the idea.

Hermione's hand reached to the edge of Draco's sleeve: A silent plea to him to tell her that this was as awful as the memory of this evening could be. Yet she knew that neither Bellatrix nor Lucius would let it end here, and how the younger Draco was dealing with all of this was disconcerting.

Her eyes ran across the room until she found him, deathly in the face and his back pressed up against the wall. He looked dreadful especially next to his father, who, in contrast, stood tall and seemed entirely apathetic to the sea of red at their feet. The teenaged Draco looked like he might throw up. Even without being a Legilimens, Hermione could tell that young Draco wanted to look away from the blood and gore, to look at the ceiling, the walls, the door, his shoes— just anything but that slain man lying dead on the floor. But the seventh year Slytherin knew better than to show sympathy for a _dirtyfilthymudblood_ in front of Death Eaters, his father and aunt or not.

Looking away would reveal his weakness.

Screaming would announce his defeat.

And he could fool you into believing otherwise, but to Hermione, it appeared that his eyes were threatening to water any moment now.

She wouldn't have been able to read him back then, but her relationship with Draco had changed significantly since. Even with a patchy memory, his body language was intuitive to her. She knew him, and she wondered whether Lucius and Bellatrix were truly oblivious to his distress, or that they just didn't care.

Hermione couldn't imagine them not being able to tell. _They knew him, didn't they?_

She understood now why Draco hadn't been able to openly discuss with her what happened that winter break when she discovered his Dark Mark. Why would've he? Especially to someone who he was barely friends with at the time? If she wanted to understand him - if she _truly_ cared about him - she couldn't rely on him tonight. She realized that now.

So she let her hand fall from his sleeve. She wouldn't ask him to cut this memory short and go back to reality now. She had to see this through. Every dreadful detail of it.

The older Draco watched Hermione sadly. He had seen her imploring eyes, and knew what she wanted him to tell her. If only he could truthfully tell her that things would be okay. But there was nothing truthful that he could say to comfort her.

Things weren't going to be okay.

And he debated very seriously to end the memory there. But he had to confront his own demons, and he knew that Hermione understood it too perfectly. Everything that was happening in front of them had already happened six years ago. There was no stopping it now. Ending the memory here would only be a sign of his cowardice. Draco had already shown enough of that.

He felt her hand fall from his sleeve. (How he wished he could squeeze back without a worry.) And he saw her face warp into an ineffable mixture of anger and helplessness. Soon, that anger would turn towards him, he knew. And yet all he could do was watch. All _they _could do was watch.

Yet Hermione could barely watch.

She saw how the father had tried to cover the children's eyes. How he was too late. She saw how distraught the little blonde girl was, her hands seizing onto her father's shirt, arm, neck until she was spilling hot tears all over his shoulders. At their sides, Mrs. Bloomfield was calling for God's mercy, and the little girl with dark hair stood in the middle of them all, petrified. Her eyes still hadn't left the pooling red surrounding Brian, the man whom she had once said "_Good morning!"_ to every day out on the lawn. Now she would never be able to greet him again.

As Mrs. Bloomfield's prayers slowly died down into a soft whimper, Bellatrix continued to enjoy what she considered a pathetic plea for their lives on the muggles' part. The veteran Death Eater knew that she could end it all _right there,_ but that would go against their plans. Even Bellatrix Lestrange could restraint herself... if restraining meant adding to the thrill later.

The bawling of the other child subsided to muffled sobs under her father's empty words of comfort, (_"We'll be okay. Sweetheart, we'll be fine."_) The little girl with dark hair slowly peered up from the bloodied floor. Her sharp, focused eyes stopped at the witch that was hovering right above her.

This girl had not been crying, Hermione noticed. She didn't even look confused, unlike the muggle adults surrounding her. Instead, she seemed transfixed by the way Bellatrix twirled her wand between her fingers; the way the tall witch walked back and forth, still smiling winningly.

The little girl recognized that face. That face of pure exhilaration triumphing over sanity—

But this was as sane as Bellatrix Lestrange could ever be, wasn't it?

Clear comprehension suddenly took over her.

_"You're that person on Christmas Eve,"_ the ten-year-old said softly, but clearly. Her face was chalk-white now.

Bellatrix's wand stopped mid-air. She glanced down at the child, a wary eyebrow raised.

_"You burnt down our house. You took my..."_ The child paused, bit her lip, and then spoke again, frowning deeply this time, _"you took away mum and dad."_

It was only then that Hermione realized that the girl with dark hair wasn't part of the muggle family. Her green eyes were vigilant – as if all knowing – standing out amongst the confused blues and browns of the Bloomfield family. The lack of resemblance was obvious now.

Hermione had overlooked the other child though, whose expressions changed too when the first girl recognized Bellatrix. Draco saw, and knew: Both children understood the situation perfectly well, better than their adults did anyway. The Bloomfield parents looked awfully confused. Mrs. Bloomfield in particular was stunned by the little girl's final comment about her parents.

A corner of Bellatrix's red lips slowly rose as she recognized that judgmental look on the face of the dark-haired girl who just spoke.

_How very much like that of her uncle..._

And those exceptionally bright green eyes.

_Just like her father..._

To top it all off, that despicably haughty Gryffindor attitude— _Undeniably inherited from both her parents! _Yes, Bellatrix recognized the child.

She glanced at her nephew.

Catching his aunt's eye, Draco examined the girl in question, who was pouting angrily now. She looked so small - _probably grow up to be disdainfully annoying, yes_ - but still, small. She was barely up to his waist.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Mrs. Bloomfield burst out the question that was at the tip of her tongue, _"You know this woman? YOU KNOW THEM?"_

The little girl turned to her normally sweet now terrified neighbors' mum. The 34-year-old mother knew how to read the child's face intuitively. Her eyes were sad and fearful; a rueful frown was plastered onto her forehead.

_"Dear..."_

Mr. Bloomfield reached out to warn his wife from making a scene in this highly dangerous situation, but she shrugged him off. Her frustration was temporarily winning over her fear for the death-dealing peculiar people surrounding them. Taking the dark-haired girl's tiny shoulders, she forced the child to look at her in the eye.

_"What do you mean this woman_ took_ Alison and Rebecca?" _she demanded, shaking the girl's body, "_Didn't they die in the fire? DIDN'T THEY?_"

Her words should have been too thoughtless and harsh for a child to bear, yet the child stood very still, letting Mrs. Bloomfield shake her back and forth without a whimper.

_"I'm sorry..." _was all the child would say. Even then she didn't cry.

Mrs. Bloomfield almost wished she did. At least then she'd seem like a normal child!

The woman's lips trembling as she spoke, _"I_ thought_ it was suspicious... Nobody found their bodies after the incident... And he was strange too, that man! The one who said he was your uncle, with his creepy eye and all... Dan and I told him to come back another day—"_

The girl's head shot up. She was wide-eyed and speechless. No one told her that her uncle had dropped by.

Mrs. Bloomfield became defensive, _"I'm sorry, darling, but we wanted to protect you! He didn't look right... really, he was unreasonable, right, Dan?"_

She turned to her husband for support, who, fearful of what his wife was doing, nodded only a small inch. His eyes darted to their captors' cold annoyed scowls. The unreadable expression on Bellatrix's face made him extremely uncomfortable; she looked both mad and excited at the same time, like a storm ready to explode.

Mrs. Bloomfield though, was completely oblivious and satisfied enough with her husband's small nod.

_"See, Alysia? We didn't want to take you with us to meet such a strange man..."_

And then her voice trailed off, realizing from the sad, disappointed expression on the child's face that the 'strange man' hadn't been lying, and that she and her husband had made a horrible mistake not giving away Alysia back then. The child wasn't orphaned, but there was something bigger and more frightening happening out there that led to tonight's events. Suddenly, Mrs. Bloomfield became mindful again of the unfriendly company surrounding them, and she glanced at Bellatrix's outstretched wand. She made the connection.

_"They're... here for you...? Alysia, you're— you're one of _them_?"_

The little girl's head shot up to look at Mrs. Bloomfield's disparaging face.

_"Yes, but not a Death Eater,"_ Alysia blurted out; her voice now more high-pitched than when she first spoke, _"We're not Death Eaters!"_ And she quickly clasped her tiny hands over her mouth. She was never supposed to tell her muggle neighbors about her magical ancestry. Never. No matter the circumstances.

But the term 'Death Eater' had no meaning for the muggles. In fact, it sounded rather silly, and Mrs. Bloomfield looked offended by what she perceived as a crude joke.

All of a sudden, Bellatrix threw her head back and burst into harsh, derisive laughter, _"So much for being friendly with mudbloods!"_

Her laughter made everyone flinch. Bellatrix danced towards Alysia, and Mrs. Bloomfield immediately backed away, dragging her daughter and husband with her. Bellatrix didn't bother with the scampering muggles. Instead, she prodded the solitary child with her wand teasingly. Alysia didn't flinch, just snapped Bellatrix's wand away from her and glared at the tall wicked woman. She looked miserable, just the way Bellatrix liked it.

Bellatrix grinned and addressed the trembling muggles.

_"I suppose little half-blood here also didn't tell you that her family was spying against the Ministry for Dumbledore's Order, did she?"_

Alysia bit her lower lip, anger flaring in her eyes.

_"Who knows who else they spied on?"_ Bellatrix continued to goad, smiling smugly.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bloomfield knew what she was babbling about, but it didn't matter. The whole point was to isolate and agitate the child. It was working.

_"I never told, but I never lied!"_ Alysia exclaimed, _"And mum and dad never spied on muggles. Never!"_

Bellatrix only smiled more and leaned down to peer into the little girl's defiant face, like a lady leaning down to baby talk a puppy.

_"Sure you haven't, dearie,"_ she said condescendingly.

Young Draco winced in the corner as he listened. It was unpleasant to have his aunt call him that, but it was even more terrifying for her to call the enemy's child so mockingly affectionately.

_"You're Alison Moody and goody-two-shoes mudblood's only daughter," _Bellatrix continued to provoke,_ "They never lied! Ever!"_

Hermione's eyes went wide.

Moody.

Alysia's name was Moody.

And her uncle had a creepy eye. There was only one Moody with a creepy eye that Hermione knew.

This was where Mad-Eye and Draco had crossed paths personally.

She glanced at Draco, who looked back at her with a sad lop-sided smile. It was as if he were saying: _See? I told you that you'll find out about Mad-Eye_.

Alysia, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's young niece, glowered at Bellatrix's foul language, _"You can't call my mum that."_

She said it like it was common sense. Like it was _not allowed._

Bellatrix giggled like a love-struck teenaged girl; Lucius sniggered too with amusement from the far end of the room, his arms folded before him.

_"Who are you to say," _Lucius started.

_"—What we can or can't call your mudblood mother, half-blood?" _Bellatrix finished for him.

_"It's rude!" _Alysia lost her temper, _"You're just too proud to be friends with muggles! You're not better than everyone!"_

Bellatrix doubled up, _"I'm sure that's what your mudblood-loving parents told you, child!"_

Offended to the point of not being able to verbalize her anger, Alysia Moody hissed and growled like an angry feline. Bellatrix just laughed even more and Lucius smirked wordlessly.

Young Draco tried to laugh with them, but he could barely raise a corner of his lips. Apparently, it sounded forced to his father's ears too. Lucius narrowed his eyes at his son as a warning. Young Draco stopped trying and shrank back against the wall, wishing he could disappear. He wanted no part in this, and yet he panicked that he wasn't able to fit in.

Hermione's question broke the older Draco's attention on the intense atmosphere in the room.

"Draco, where are her parents...?"

Before he could register her question properly, a loud zap from outside the house alarmed all parties in the room, all except Bellatrix.

_"It's just Rody,"_ she said with a long dramatic sigh, not taking her eyes off of her little hostage. The child was surprisingly obstinate; Bellatrix was starting to hate her a little more than she already did before coming here.

She leered,_ "You should be excited for what he brought just. for. you. dearie."_

Alysia, who had looked hopeful for a moment, became very concerned, though she hid it immediately again. She turned to the muggle adults behind her, who looked disappointed and terrified to hear that it was someone that_ they _knew, not her. Alysia especially looked to the muggle child reassuringly, who peered back at her from within her parents' arms.

_Such a strong-willed child_, Hermione thought. Alysia would've been sorted into Gryffindor like Mad-Eye was if she were old enough to go to school already.

_"Get the door, son. He can't see this place,"_ Lucius was ordering Draco, pointing lazily towards the entrance with his cane, _"Make sure it's him too."_

Draco complied, cold sweat visibly rolling down the side of his face. Hermione watched him worriedly as he walked towards the front door.

The older Draco instead kept his eyes on the muggle father's face. He'd remembered the conversation that ensued between the man and his father, and there was something that had bothered Draco back then.

As Draco had remembered, Mr. Bloomfield asked, standing up, _"He's your... your son?"_ His face twisted in disbelief, even as he saw the resemblance between Draco and Lucius.

The pale, almost silvery blonde was frankly hard to miss.

_"You brought your son with you to... to something like this?"_

Mr. Bloomfield's contempt was clear in his tone now, _"What is he, sixteen? Seventee—"_

_"Silencio," _Lucius Malfoy briskly hexed the man into silence. He, of all people, had no need to justify himself to anyone, especially not a mudblood. Lucius also cast his favorite spell to wound the nettling man's legs for good measure. Mr. Bloomfield sank to his knees on the floor in utmost pain. Nobody could hear his scream.

_"Nice that he's quiet now,"_ Bellatrix chuckled gleefully and pretended to cast a spell on Mrs. Bloomfield too, causing the poor woman and her child to break into tears.

_"Well, aren't you loud,"_ the sadistic witch taunted. Mrs. Bloomfield immediately swallowed her whimper and covered her child's mouth with her hand.

Bellatrix smirked, _"That's better."_

Draco had heard this exchange even back then, but he hadn't seen the look on everyone's faces because he had been busy fretting over getting the door. He clenched his fists now, bitter to realize that the muggle man – this stranger – had cared or at least thought about his well being more than his father or aunt had.

He looked into his father's face, searching for some sign of regret, some sort of sign that he indeed cared for his only son. Draco had never forgotten his father's last words to him, that despite all his priorities until the day he left the Manor forever, Draco and Narcissa mattered most to him.

But all Draco saw in his father now was annoyance and indignation, and... and well, what was it? The deep furrow on Lucius' forehead was familiar - the one that only became visible when he was worried. Had he been worried about... me?

Draco quickly mentally slapped himself. What was the point of wishing such things? His father had allowed him to go through the rest of the evening without trying to protect him. Besides, Lucius was long dead in reality. Nothing could change what was done; regret had no place in this.

And Draco, now remembering everything clearly, saw how his father's expression changed to anger as soon as the front door opened and slammed shut. Rodolphus Lestrange had arrived, and Lucius was not subtle about how much he loathed his brother-in-law.

_"Rodolphus, I swear—"_

_"I'm sorry, al'ight? It's only been, what, fifteen minutes?" _Rodolphus grunted half-heartedly as he trolled into the living room. The floor shook at his feet, and young Draco followed behind him, stumbling and looking stricken. The towering wizard continued to justify his delay, _"The Dark Lord took his time giving me his totem—"_

_"Let Us Not Start This." _Bellatrix warned Lucius dangerously, but it was too late.

_"How little He trusts you."_

Rodolphus was quick to see red, _"This, from the man whose little runt wasn't initiated on his seventeenth birthday!"_ He pointed at Draco directly, causing the Slytherin schoolboy to redden.

Lucius was vehement, _"That is none of your business."_

Rodolphus laughed sarcastically, _"Well, I'm here tonight, aren't I?"_

He had a point, and Lucius hated admitting it.

_"Well if you ARE a part of this, I'd appreciate more punctuality and responsibility!"_

_"Punctuality?" _Rodolphus mocked, wheezing from laughing too much,_ "YOU tell me about punctuality, Lucius! Your son here waited a floggin' seven months for this. He's lucky this Moody child just miraculously fell into our laps! It's already the New Year—"_

_"ENOUGH!"_

In her rage, Bellatrix whipped vicious hexes at the two men, just missing their noses and shocking them into silence. Just as abruptly, she turned to the teenaged wizard who had backed up into the corridor behind her husband's back.

_"Draco, come forward. COME FORWARD!"_

Rodolphus stepped out of his nephew's way immediately. Imperious as he was, Rodolphus Lestrange was still no match to his wife when she was enraged. Bellatrix continued to glare at him and watched through a corner of her eye as he stepped over the broken coffee table and obediently set up the Dark Lord's totem on the mantle piece at the fireplace. Once she was sure that her husband was not misbehaving, Bellatrix gestured angrily at her nephew again.

Young Draco took a reluctant step into the living room. Even though he was sure that he had voluntarily stepped forward, Draco felt a strange pull from his aunt, like she was somehow controlling him. His pale complexion reflected the bright incandescent lights, and he felt exposed in front of everyone. He had hoped he could simply disappear from this whole affair, but the faces of the four captives were painfully clear to him now that he was no longer hiding in a corner.

Alysia stood where she was in the middle of the room, not backing off from the young wizard who was twice her height. The other child was stretching her arms out to her friend from her parents' arms, though she was too far to reach. Mrs. Bloomfield held her daughter back, while Mr. Bloomfield continued to try and move his jaw that was glued shut by Lucius' spell. And Alysia Moody stood in front of them, knowing that they were not the Death Eaters' main objective: She was.

_"You're a bully," _she said with contempt.

Young Draco frowned. _What is she, provoking me?_

He hadn't even done anything or said a word yet. But then, he glanced at the company he was in. _Of course, _what else could he be? Still, her attitude really irked him. Maybe it was better off this way; after all, he needed to get this over with. But annoying as she was, it didn't change that fact that she was still just a puny little kid, and Draco wasn't at all comfortable with what he was supposed to do to her. He needed a distraction, to think about it in his head five more times before he went ahead with his aunt's plans, but Bellatrix's skeptical glare didn't allow such leisure.

Looking up, he noticed something. Alysia followed his stare and turned around to see that he was watching the other child in the muggle parents' arms.

_"She's your friend, isn't she?"_ he asked without much thought. Alysia's head froze, still staring at her friend and not turning back to face him. The muggle child looked worried too now. They were important to each other.

Bellatrix and Lucius were having a conversation behind him. The younger Draco hadn't heard them back then, but the older Draco did now.

_"He's got a knack for figuring out what hurts people most, doesn't he? At least he's got that one trait going for him."_

Lucius nodded a little, though he was still the ever-cynical father he was.

The older Draco was both disgusted and ashamed. It was true, whether he liked it or not, he had the gift to see what was most important to someone, and taunt them with it. He'd turn many tables with his insights, especially during his mental battles with other Death Eaters. And he was proud of it too.

But taunting a 10-year-old didn't have the same effect on his self-worth. Draco watched as his younger self's eyes flashed momentarily, seeing what could hurt the child he was supposed to torture. His wand shifted to the muggle child, and her parents gasped frightfully. Alysia's knees started to shake. Threatening and pleading words were forming at her lips, but she didn't seem able to express herself. The frown returned to young Draco's face.

_They look the same age._

Except for their hair and their eye color, the two girls looked very alike. They were even wearing the same skirts: One red, the other blue. Why was it that he was supposed to kill one and take the other alive? He didn't actually know Alysia, but he knew who she was. These muggles had nothing to do with them. They were just unlucky to be here, that was all.

_Unlike me._

_Pressured or not, I chose to be here, unlike them._

And how was Hermione so different from him?

The older Draco remembered that the same question had passed through his younger self's mind (except he had addressed her as _Granger_ back then). In response, young Draco gripped his wand tightly, trying to force that seed of doubt out of his mind. It wasn't working.

Impatient for his indecision, Bellatrix flicked her wand at her nephew. Young Draco's back straightened with a forceful jolt of her sadistic spell.

_"Grab the half-blood child, pass her to me, and kill the rest already, Draco. We don't have time."_

Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield's faces froze at the angry witch's words. They squeezed their only daughter tightly to their chests. Alysia looked so frightened now, if Draco had been cruel enough, he could've easily made her cry.

_"Aunt Bella..."_ young Draco beseeched, his arm trembling as he continued to point his wand aimlessly somewhere between Alysia and the muggles.

The older Draco, forgetting where they were in reality, stepped forward and reached out to his younger self's wand arm. He watched with disappointment, of course, as his fingers slipped through the immaterial image of his younger self. He couldn't stop his younger self; he was sympathizing with his younger self. It was pathetic.

_Don't watch this._

"Don't watch this, Hermione," he felt his courage slip away, "I don't want you to watch this."

Hermione walked to his side and squeezed his aimlessly hanging hand. Her reply was gentle, though there was a hint of fear too.

"We've come this far, Draco."

_No!_

Regret overwhelmed him.

_We can stop here!_

But he couldn't say it out loud. He was already a coward enough to be ashamed for life.

Young Draco was still speaking, hesitantly, _"You didn't tell me these people had a kid." _Not that he would have been able to kill the adults either.

_"What did you expect, boy? Hugs and kisses?"_

His aunt's mockery painted his ears red, though he controlled himself from blushing in the face. Draco knew better than anyone else that he wasn't there for anything pleasant.

_"Remember, Draco,"_ Lucius reminded him as well from behind, _"Don't shame us."_

Young Draco swallowed with difficulty. A wary lump was growing in his throat. He'd needed that reminder.

He didn't want that reminder.

_"Adults are supposed to protect children from harm, not expose them to it._"

All heads turned to where the long forgotten voice came from. It was Mr. Bloomfield. The silencing spell had finally worn off. The crippled father stood up with a wobble, despite his wife's protests.

_"Dan, please,"_ Mrs. Bloomfield begged with trembling lips, _"Please don't provoke them."_

He wasn't trying to.

He wanted them to stop. To see that his child and Alysia weren't the only ones that needed help. Bellatrix quickly slid forward to stop him from getting close to their hostage, but Daniel Bloomfield didn't back off even with her wand jabbed painfully against his chest. He walked past Alysia, surprising Bellatrix, and placed a hand on young Draco's shoulder.

That already took everyone off guard, but what surprised Draco most was that it was a kind squeeze.

_"You shouldn't be here,"_ Mr. Bloomfield whispered near his ear. It made the teenaged boy shudder.

And then it was all so fast; young Draco barely had time to grasp the meaning of the muggle man's words. A bright red light shot past his face. He felt Mr. Bloomfield's grip on him, and then the next moment, it was gone.

And then a loud crash, a colossal amount of dust and smoke, and a light blew out somewhere.

_"BLIMEY, LUCIUS! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"_

That was Rodolphus's voice.

_"DADDY!"_

An unfamiliar childish voice from the muggle girl, and then a scream from Mrs. Bloomfield that was easy to recognize by now.

Young Draco didn't think of looking at the consequences of Mr. Bloomfield's daring words yet. Instead he turned around immediately, and looked at the man who had cast the spell. Lucius' face was black with anger, twisted by his jealousy and paternal possessiveness. He glared at Draco, daring the boy to consider Mr. Bloomfield's words even once. The son cowered, though he'd lowered his wand unconsciously due to a lack of will to truly use it on Alysia or the muggle family.

_"Your wand,"_ Lucius said coldly.

It was enough of a reminder. Draco raised his wand again as he turned around to see the damage his father had done. He saw that Mr. Bloomfield had smashed into the fireplace head-on; his upper body was still buried in the rubbles of the fireplace as his wife and child tried desperately to dig him out. Rodolphus seemed to have dodged just in time to avoid collateral damage; he seemed unscathed. The angry wizard was also moving the mess around, obviously not to help the muggles, but because the Dark Lord's totem was buried in the commotion. He was cursing out loud, mad that it was impossible to _accio _the damn thing and blamed Lucius for being a schizophrenic fool.

_"You're a calculating man,"_ Bellatrix said to Lucius as she showed them that she had caught hold of Alysia before the girl tried to run off and protect the remaining muggles, _"You _were _actually trying to kill Rody, weren't you?"_

_"Let me go!"_ Alysia struggled painfully. Bellatrix's long fingernails only dug into her arm more.

Lucius just glanced at his suspicious sister-in-law and responded uninterestedly, _"Whatever nonsense is this, Bellatrix?"_

Bellatrix just smirked in response and turned to his son instead, _"Your father's not a man to mess with, Drakie."_

Draco knew.

_"Rody!" _Bellatrix howled across the room, suddenly sounding more annoyed, _"Have you found it yet? I'd like to get this done before the aurors arrive!"_

_"Merlin, Bella! Give me a sec, will you?"_ Rodolphus called back coarsely as he finally pulled out the damned piece of totem out of the debris and wiped it down.

_"Every blasted fool here's floggin' impatient..."_ he mumbled to himself, placing the totem on what remained of the fireplace's roof now.

_"You said something, Rodolphus?"_ Bellatrix asked coldly.

_"No,"_ he replied without looking back at her, already used to his wife's abuse.

Pointing his wand at the totem – a communication portal to the Dark Lord – Rodolphus began performing a complicated spell that his master had only taught him that day. A wisp of black smoke encircled the totem and grew, swathing the mantle piece and slowly spreading to the floor. Young Draco froze in fear, his wand arm shaking visibly now.

_How long do I have?_

_Ten minutes?_

_Five?_

_"DRACO!" _Lucius bellowed angrily and pointed at Alysia in Bellatrix's arms, jogging the shocked boy awake. Young Draco raised his wand and pointed it at the terrified girl's face. He couldn't decide which one of them looked more terrified. He couldn't see his own face, and her bright green eyes were glowing mercilessly in the only intact light bulb right above them.

He had to get himself together. Had to do this right!

Draco wasn't the only one who became alert at Lucius' roar. Having finally dug her unconscious father's head out of the wreckage with her mother, the muggle child looked up and saw the stand off between Draco and her best friend. Panic ran through her; she got to her feet before her mother could stop her.

_"AMY!"_

_"You can't kill Ally!"_

Young Draco was flabbergasted. Looking down, the muggle child had grabbed him by his wand arm, dragging it backwards with all 50 pounds of her body weight.

_Let go,_ he thought.

_"Let go,"_ he said anxiously.

_"Amy, let go,"_ Alysia said firmly to her friend too as she continued to try and shake Bellatrix off. There was desperation in her voice that wasn't there before, _"They'll leave you alone if let me go!"_

Draco felt his courage falter with Alysia's well intended lie. His conscience was screaming at him, and he glanced at his father for guidance. Lucius returned a glare that sent a chill down his spine. He had to do this. Draco tightened his grip on his wand and pulled against Amy's surprisingly strong grip.

_"Let go now."_ Draco said again, more insistently this time.

_"Amy, please," _Mrs. Bloomfield beckoned desperately from her husband's side as well,_ "Come back to your mother, please!"_

_"No,"_ the little blonde girl shook her head stubbornly, refusing to look at her crying mother, _"I promised Mrs. Moody to protect Ally..." _she looked up at Alysia for affirmation, _"You were there! You know it's true!"_

For the first time, Alysia's eyes brimmed with tears. Reminding her of her mother right now, when she knew deep down that they were completely helpless among these Death Eaters, was too much to bear.

_"What do you mean by that?"_ Mrs. Bloomfield asked in distress, not knowing what to say anymore. Everyone seemed to know things that she should've known all along.

_"I was there when the fire started," _Amy cried as she buried her face into Draco's arm, still tugging with all her might,_ "Mrs. Moody teleported Ally and me home and told me to protect Ally when she's gone! I promised not to tell!"_

If it were a different situation, the way she was holding onto him, Draco would've thought that she was telling him not to go, like she'd miss him. Her hot tears stained his sleeve, and the warmth of her trembling breath and tiny arms through the fabric made him shudder. Her skin was so soft.

_She's just a child._

A _MUDBLOOD_ child.

_But still a child!_

Alysia began crying uncontrollably. She still remembered her mother smiling at her for the last time before the courageous witch went back to their burning home to save her father, who was fighting a woman Alysia hadn't known. She looked up at Bellatrix hatefully now.

_"It was you,"_ Alysia wailed, _"You took her!"_

_"I am losing it, Draco," _Bellatrix hissed hoarsely as she ignored Alysia's outcry. She violently dragged her up to Draco, grabbing Amy by the shoulder as well. Amy screamed in pain, letting go of Draco's arm instinctively. Blood began to seep out of her shirt where Bellatrix had grabbed her. The witch had no mercy for mettlesome children.

Her sermon didn't stop there either, _"If My Lord sees that you can't do something as easy as torture this girl and kill the other, we'd all be killed," _she said with flaming eyes, _"So get this over with, NOW! Or I will take matters into my own hands, and you'll NEVER complete your initiation!" _

Momentarily letting go of Amy, she pulled out her dagger and, in a flash, demonstratively slashed the child's face with it, making both children scream in fright. Mrs. Bloomfield leapt to her feet but Lucius quickly pointed his wand at her, freezing her in her place.

"Don't. Move," he said coldly.

Bellatrix seized Amy once again as she tried to run away and held each girl in her arms, facing Draco. She detected the shock and doubt in his face.

_They're traitors and mudbloods, Draco. __You don't need to hesitate. _

Her words throbbed in his head, Draco nearly groaned out loud.

_You have no time left!_

Draco's hand trembled as he raised his wand. His head was pounding against his skull. The enormity of what his aunt was pointing out to him tightened around his chest. It was so obvious, so obvious what he _should _do. But it wasn't right. _It can't be right._

_Good._

_Good?_ Young Draco asked himself, what's good about this?

Looking up, he realized he was pointing his wand at Amy Bloomfield's sweet little face. Tears were rolling down her face and mixing with the blood trickling down her baby cheeks. Her blue eyes glittered in the light. His heart wrenched.

Bellatrix's eyes shot quickly to the muggle woman who was now beyond fear even with Lucius' wand pointed at her; she had to protect her child.

_"Lucius, stand back,"_ Bellatrix ordered. And then she spoke in Draco's mind again.

_Her first._

Young Draco glanced at the mother who was just trying to protect her captured child. Lucius backed off as instructed.

_"Please, have mercy," _Mrs. Bloomfield begged as she moved towards Draco, _"Not Amy, not my daughter—"_

He could feel his brain cells struggling to understand what he was doing, and he could barely think properly. All he could think was how much she should shut up; _shut up _and don't get herself involved anymore. He hated her, hated her with no logical reason. Just as much as he hated the father who was lying on the floor, dead now. Nothing good would come out of this.

_Why can't you stay out of this?_

_"Silence her,"_ Lucius ordered.

How much Draco hated that domineering voice right now. It was all he could do to redirect that hatred towards the innocent woman staggering towards him. Draco's wand was already turned towards her.

_"Please,"_ Mrs. Bloomfield said again.

"_Shut up!"_ he panted. Draco couldn't breathe properly. He tried to hold the spell in his mind, but the more he tried, the more it crumbled into useless words. He had to hold it. Hold the hate he didn't know why he felt towards her.

_"...Silencio!"_

Mrs. Bloomfield's jaw shut tight and her eyes went wide in fear.

_"No,"_ Amy sobbed, struggling against Bellatrix's firm grip, _"No, mummy, no...!"_

_Do it._

He couldn't stand Bellatrix's voice in his head.

He hated his own cold unfeeling voice even more.

_"Crucio!"_

His aunt's high-pitched laughter rang in his ears, but Mrs. Bloomfield's wordless screams were even louder.

_"NO!"_ Hermione cried.

He shouldn't have heard her, but young Draco turned sharply towards Hermione suddenly. It surprised both her and the older Draco, but it was just an illusion. No, he hadn't seen them. Instead, he was staring at Amy, now lying in a heap on the floor between him and his aunt and a screaming Alysia. It was Alysia's scream that broke his attention from the Cruciatus curse. Bellatrix had hexed the muggle child for trying to bite herself free. Mrs. Bloomfield too fell to the floor, scarcely breathing anymore.

_"Let me go!"_ Alysia screamed, _"Amy, wake up! Amy! LET ME GO!"_

A heavy thud from behind, and Alysia's world blacked out with Lucius' merciless strike in the back of her head with his cane.

"No..." Hermione gasped again. The older Draco looked away.

_"Draco, the Killing Curse,"_ Lucius muttered, _"Properly."_

_"Father."_

_"No more stalling!"_

_"Don't take Ally... Ally..." _Amy stammered as she tried to push her upper body off the floor. Her arm gave way and she fell again.

Bellatrix wasn't going to wait for Draco to make up his mind again; she turned her wand to the still struggling muggle child.

Hermione couldn't watch anymore.

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"  
"EXPELLIARMUS!"_

Bellatrix gasped as her wand went flying across the room, _"—HOW DARE YOU, DRACO!"_

Young Draco's mind went blank momentarily in panic. His wand was still pointed at her, but he couldn't remember himself disarming his aunt. Lucius' eyes were as wide as disks, and Rodolphus, who hadn't broken his concentration on the totem for the past ten minutes, looked up. The judgmental look on their faces terrified him. The anger in Rodolphus' face was clear. Lucius raised his wand too. Something lodged into place in Draco's head. Something broke. He turned to the wounded child still lying on the floor. A nauseating feeling at the pit of his stomach would overwhelm him if he didn't say it right now.

_"CRUCIO."_

Amy's anguished scream filled the room as she thrashed and rolled back and forth on the floor in agony. Young Draco's muscles tighten on his face, cringing visibly, but he wasn't going to cry. He can't cry.

"No," Hermione whispered, turning to the older Draco standing next to her, "Please tell me... no. No, it can't be."

He couldn't look at her in the eye.

Young Draco's words were cold, _"I'm sorry, Aunt Bella... but she's mine."_

Hermione began to cry.

Bellatrix looked incredulous still, but Lucius suddenly seemed pleased.

_"Surely you can hold back your blood-lust for him, Bella?"_

He never called Bellatrix by her pet name, and his sarcasm made her cringe. She didn't say anything.

_"It's ready."_

Rodolphus' statement brought everyone's attention to the fireplace. Out of the black smoke came the image of the most evil wizard known to man, with Nagini lying at his feet.

_Draco Malfoy._

The temperature in the room fell rapidly with Lord Voldemort's cold silken voice. Everyone heard it, even Amy and her barely moving mother, but everyone knew the Dark Lord didn't speak out loud. It wasn't in their heads either. It was just, there, all around them. Both Lucius and Bellatrix visibly shrank back from the image of their master. Rodolphus had a smirk on his face. It was time for his lovely, lovely nephew to be judged.

_Are we done yet?_

Draco's face turned blue; the Dark Lord's voice somehow brought his senses back. And his conscience too, which was extremely inconvenient right now of all times. Lucius saw.

_"Draco," _Lucius hissed, _"He asked you a question."_

Draco barely heard his panicking father; all he could hear was his own panting.

_"No, sir,"_ Draco whispered, _"I... I'm about to finish, My Lord..."_

_"Mummy..."_

Amy's tiny voice was suddenly louder than anything else. Draco's eyes began to blur. He wasn't crying was he? He can't cry. _Just, can't._

_I can't._

He braved looking down at the muggle child. She was half curled up into a ball, cradling her broken arm. He saw the deep gash running along her sweet little face, bleeding a bright red even in the feeble lights left in the room, even with his blurring eyes.

_I can't do this._

Bellatrix grabbed Draco's hand on his wand, _"Say it."_

_"Mummy..."_ the little girl whispered again with the little breath she had left. Draco's heart broke. The mother whimpered silently, lying on her side on the carpeted floor, eyes wide open but unable to move. The father was already dead, motionless at the feet of the Dark Lord's image amongst the rubble.

No. He couldn't. He couldn't possibly—

_"SAY IT!"_

_No, but—_

_DO IT, DRACO MALFOY._

It was the Dark Lord's voice now. Draco weakly pointed his wand where Bellatrix guided him.

_But I—_

_DO IT._

_I don't want—_

_NOW._

_She's just a—_

_NOW._

_NOW._

_NOW._

He couldn't hear his own thoughts anymore.

_NOW._

Something shattered audibly inside him.

_NOW!_

_"_—_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

A green flash blinded them all briefly. The light went out. He couldn't hear the Dark Lord's voice anymore.

There was no echo in the room either. But over and over again, he heard his own voice. Just him, screaming _Avada Kedavra_, over and over again. Amy lay still on the floor. She was breathing barely discernibly.

Draco knew then that his spell was poorly executed; he hadn't meant it. He heard his aunt and uncle scowl, and somewhere from a corner of his eye he saw his father squinting in disappointment and Mrs. Bloomfield screaming wordlessly. He felt like the room was shrinking around him, boxing him into a tight corner until it squeezed his last breath out of him. Well, right now he'd rather choke to death than stand there in this room. He'd failed. Failed, and yet...

He saw her matted blonde hair, wet with tears and sweat against her face. Her eyes were still half-opened; how he wished she'd close them. He couldn't bare to look at her in her eyes anymore. _What color were they?_ He couldn't remember. Her tiny arms lay on her sides, no longer struggling. She'd given up. Suddenly he wanted her to hold him again. Her arms had felt warm against his earlier. It didn't matter if she hated him. Everybody in this room hated him. At least she fought him with all her might, all 50 pounds of her tiny body and soul, instead of pointing a stick in his face and threatening him. She held him. It was more than his own father ever did. _"You shouldn't be here."_ Someone said that to him earlier. _Who was it?_ Her eyelids were falling. _Good, she's asleep now. _Nothing can harm her anymore.

_No. _

_Don't go._

Something was horribly wrong with him.

Hermione felt her legs give in. She sank to the floor, and instead of finding the lush but bloodied carpet in the Bloomfield family's home, her knees landed painfully on the cold stone floor of the Malfoy's basement. It reminded her where she really was, but the horror of what she just witnessed didn't go away. It was a memory, a memory and not a dream.

A nightmare.

Little Amy Bloomfield wasn't moving anymore; and the younger version of the man Hermione had learned to trust stood in the middle of it all, inscrutable and devoid of emotions.

The memory was still continuing; there were a series of loud zaps outside the Bloomfield's house, one after another aurors were arriving. Hermione couldn't take any of it in. Her eyes stayed with young Draco, who didn't seem to care if an incoming hex would hit him. At his feet, Bellatrix found her wand on the floor and picked it up quickly. She then dropped the unconscious Alysia to the floor and thrust her other hand into her pocket, searching for something.

_"Just great, little runt,"_ Rodolphus mocked young Draco as he walked past him, _"You couldn't even kill properly. Wait till we meet Him, in person." _He hurriedly picked up Alysia from where Bellatrix had left her and pointed his wand at the totem.

_"Excuse us, My Lord," _he said. The black smoke twirled around the room and flashed into the totem quickly.

It was time to go. There was a loud blast at the door. The young Slytherin still stayed unmoving in the middle of the room, eyes blank and unfocused. Even the older Draco couldn't remember anymore what his younger self was thinking back then. It was as if his brain had shut down; 17-year-old Draco Malfoy had no understanding of what he'd just done.

Lucius grabbed his son firmly.

_"Son... get a hold of yourself."_

The gentleness in his father's voice escaped young Draco's ears as they moved towards the fireplace. Bellatrix pulled out a handful of Floo powder, _"Get going now!"_

The fireplace burned up in green flames. Rodolphus went through first, carrying Alysia over his shoulder. They disappeared.

Lucius pushed Draco in ahead of him and stepped in as well. He looked at his son again, who seemed utterly unconcerned as to what was going on. Lucius frowned painfully; a whisper escaped his lips.

_"Draco, I'm sorry..."_

He looked back just in time to see Mad-Eye bursting through the door.

_"LESTRANGE, DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!"_

Moody's voice boomed through the house. Rapid footsteps followed him.

"Hermione," Draco begged softly, "Let's stop here now..."

Hermione didn't move from her spot. Tears were streaming down her face as she watched Bellatrix cackle hysterically and shoot the Killing Curse at the pursing aurors before stepping into the fireplace too. Mad-Eye came into the living room, his natural eye wide in terror as his magical eye searched for his lost niece all over the room. The angry auror saw flashes of blonde leaving with the black of the deranged female Death Eater. The green flames were disappearing.

_"Malfoy..."_

And then Alastor Moody's voice dissolved. The scene dissolved. They were back in the underground room, in front of the pensieve and the enchanted mirror.

"Hermione," Draco tried again, kneeling down beside her and reaching out to touch her arm. At his touch, an intense fear took over Hermione, and she slapped him away before she could think twice. They both looked shocked, staring at each other speechlessly.

"I... I..." she couldn't apologize. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.

Draco swallowed hard. He knew this would be the outcome, but it still wasn't easy.

"Symon."

The house elf appeared immediately at command. Hermione turned to the familiar and friendly face, but her brain couldn't function anymore. She allowed the tiny house elf to take her hand as Draco instructed him. Draco stood up and turned away.

"Please... take Hermione to her room upstairs for the night."

* * *

**Author's notes: **It seems like we need a break; Hermione certainly needs one. And I thought this memory sequence will end here... clearly I was naive.

**Please let me know your thoughts by review or PM.  
**(And we're not far from 100 reviews!)  
I take criticisms too. - M.


	34. Draco's Pensieve: Vengeance is mine

**Chapter Thirty-four: Vengeance is mine**

* * *

The morning came quietly.

He thought he heard spring showers trickling along windowpanes, and he opened his eyes, just a little, only enough to register the pale blue light pouring in from somewhere awfully high up.

Something was off. He felt groggy, like he'd only fallen asleep a moment ago.

Draco sat up and rubbed his face. There was a dull pain in his back, one of his feet felt numb, and he wondered why until he realized he was awkwardly plopped against his armchair in the library. And then he remembered:

He had been reading there the night before, trying to take his mind off of the night's events in the pensieve.

_I suppose I finally fell asleep then._

No wonder the light was coming in from so high up.

He leaned his head back slowly, squinting in the morning glow. The windows in the library were up near the ceiling, letting in ample natural light through the half-dome that characterized the ceiling of this corner of the manor. Draco looked down next, noticing the books scattered at his feet. Some were left opened, some left closed. He moved his foot lazily from underneath a book that was plopped over it.

_That explains the numb foot._

Blindly, he reached around the small reading desk next to him. A clatter of porcelain against a metal spoon– and he found his half-finished cup of tea from the night before. Draco sipped the now rather distastefully cold and bitter liquid, scowled, and returned the fine porcelain back to its coaster. At least the caffeine would wake him, he hoped. From a corner of his eye, he saw how the opened book he'd kicked off his foot now lay face-down against the carpet, the middle pages crumpled.

His eyebrow twitched a little at the atrocity he'd done on his precious hardback, but he couldn't care less right now. He was feeling a little angsty, more resigned than usual to whatever fate might throw at him next. Hermione's disbelieving eyes, round and wide; yes, that was what he had to face now. Draco closed his eyes to rid of the image that had kept him up most of the night, and he groaned when he saw it again behind his eyelids. Her pale cheeks, her jaws clenched, confusion written over her face. She was scared of him, again, and ever legitimately so. So what was he to do now? He heard a sound and opened his eyes.

A pair of hands were picking up the opened book at his feet, and carefully straightening out the wrinkled pages before closing them.

"You should treat your books more attentively, Draco," the owner of those hands said as she straightened up.

He was _always_ attentive to his books, he would've normally said. But her words were gentle despite the sarcasm, and they were lined with concern for him. He wondered if he was just imagining it out of desperation. Looking up, he saw that she was standing over him, her arms wrapped loosely around the thick volume of _Charmed By Love: A History of Marriage Heirlooms _that she'd just picked up.

Hermione didn't look as lost she did the night before. If anything, she looked calm and composed, and especiallyin the circumstances, he admired her, respected her presence of mind. Yet he'd seen the raw fear in her eyes only the night before, and Draco found himself second-guessing the unreadable expression on her face now. She was scanning his, as if she were searching for something that was missing.

Draco mentally smacked himself in the head – she had been waiting for him to say something.

"Um-uhhey," Draco mumbled indistinctly and got to his feet, knocking off a book that was balancing on the reading desk dangerously.

He reached out to catch it, but he was too late. The hardcover crashed to the floor. Draco swore under his breath and bent down to pick the book up. So much for arguing that he was always attentive to his books.

Except he hadn't actually argued anything of the sort. For once, he felt no urge to say anything witty or snappy in return.

He thought he heard her chuckle at his rare clumsiness. Turning around, Draco wished he'd seen her smile, but Hermione cut herself short before he could look up at her. She looked a little self-conscious too now, lowering her eyes to somewhere near his chest instead of his face.

She looked weary, like she hadn't slept well the night before. Draco wondered if the bags under his own eyes were as visible as hers; he hadn't slept very well either. His lower back was still a little sore; his shoulders were stiff.

They were mirroring each other now, with her and _Charmed By Love_ in her arms, and him with his _One and Only To Give Away. _Her eyes were clearly scanning across the tacky heading of the book he held to his chest.

"These names are real cheesy, huh?" Draco said with a dry laugh as he lowered the book to his side, trying to ease the tension between them. Maybe it was just the tension in his chest.

"They're good reads though," he tried to save.

Hermione nodded, "I think they're rather sweet." And a corner of her lips rose teasingly, "But yes, cheesy indeed."

Draco didn't really hear her answer. She smiled, and allowed him to see it. It was enough.

But then, she suddenly looked solemn once more. The way she stared into his eyes caught him unawares.

"Wh-What is it?"

She didn't answer yet. Her eyes scanned his again, like she was searching for her answer in the hazy grey of his irises. Draco couldn't help but stare back. So easily he got lost in her unwavering gaze even as he waited for her answer, he missed it.

"Pardon me?" Draco blurted out. She'd said something, he was sure, but he was still trying to distract himself from her eyes.

She asked again.

"Will you show me the rest?"

He heard her this time and gripped nervously onto the thick hardcover in his right hand. His mind involuntarily played her question on repeat. Seeing him tensing up, Hermione too unconsciously tightened her clasp against the book in her arms.

She continued to clarify.

"Will you... show me the rest of your... memory from last night?" her cheeks turned pale as she heard her request escape her lips. She stumbled on her words, "I just... I don't think I can sleep well at night without seeing the rest."

He wanted to tell her that she wouldn't sleep well either way, but he clamped his jaw shut. He didn't want to answer.

"Please, Draco."

He turned away and placed _One and Only _on the counter. His eyes focused on the ripples the thud caused on the surface of his cold cup of tea, and he pretended he hadn't heard.

"Draco," Hermione called again.

It was hard to ignore the way she said his name. Hermione rarely sounded so... pleading. He frowned a little as he looked up from the last ripples of the red English tea and turned to face her.

She was still staring at him, still with those unwavering eyes. She didn't speak, instead only watched him quietly, waiting for an answer. Draco's voice was heated and frustrated when he finally let it out.

"Why?" his voice cracked a little.

Hermione was about to answer immediately, but Draco didn't stop there.

"Don't you..." he started, and paused again. He watched her face as she stopped herself from responding when he continued. She looked confused, like she was trying to guess what he was going to say next, and as soon as he spoke again Draco knew she didn't want him to say any more. But he had to. They had to face the facts.

"You saw it, Hermione. You know I did it. I can't deny it. I won't deny it. I kil—" "_Please,_" Hermione interjected, letting _Charmed by Love_ fall to the armchair and reaching out to squeeze him by his arm, as if that would stop him. It stopped him.

She didn't want to hear him say it, not even from him; she couldn't bear it.

Not now.

Not yet.

"Please, Draco," she asked again, releasing her grip on his arm as she realized how tightly she was holding on. Draco wished she'd hold on.

"I need to know," she said.

_She NEEDS TO KNOW._

Draco stopped himself just in time from making a crude joke about how she always needed to be a Know-It-All, but he knew he felt the urge because he was scared. He was ready to do anything to stop her from asking. He wanted to tell her that even if he were to agree to let her watch it, he didn't want to go with her this time. He couldn't take the rest. He didn't want to remember the rest.

_We've come this far._

Her words from last night returned to him.

Even after seeing everything that happened in the Bloomfield home, she was still here with him, wanting to see the rest.

It was true: They'd come a long way.

So after a long silence, he nodded, though it wasn't courage that impelled him. He wanted closure, even though he didn't know for sure he'd gain it in the end.

God, he didn't think he was such a masochist.

xxx

Bartemius Crouch Seni_or: "Any others?"  
_Igor Karkaroff: _"Why, yes... there was Rosier. Evan Rosier."  
_Bartemius Crouch Senior: _"Rosier is dead. He was caught shortly after you were  
too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."  
_— Wizengamot interrogation of Igor Karkaroff in 1981, _Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix_

xxx

Draco and Hermione returned to the pensieve in the underground dungeon soon that afternoon.

Like a wisp of smoke, they arrived inside Draco's memory again, landing on their hands and feet on an immaculate marble floor. Hermione raised her head to see a pair of lace-tied heavy-duty boots. Looking sideways, she saw another two pairs of shoes and looked up to see the individuals they belonged to. She recognized the Death Eaters' attire before she saw their faces.

Standing up, Hermione found that she was still too short to look at Rodolphus Lestrange in the face. The man was a gruff, bearded wizard, who was at least 7 feet tall. She knew by then that the giant man had an unpleasant temper, but neither Death Eaters on his two sides were any better. To his left was the all too familiar Bellatrix Lestrange, and to his right, Lucius Malfoy, both looking in the same direction behind Hermione, as Rodolphus did, looking through her.

Draco stood up too and studied his aunt and his father's faces. Lucius looked weary, a little confused. Bellatrix looked bemused too, though she seemed more amused than anything else. _What were they confused about?_ He turned around to see what they were looking at, and immediately lowered his eyes in shame. He should have known.

Hermione too turned around, hurriedly taking in her surroundings. Possibly because she was less familiar with the place than Draco, she didn't notice yet what Draco already saw. Instead she was occupied by how massive the room was. It was completely made of marble, from the floor to the columns and the ceiling; tall windows lined along the walls on her two sides, and through half-closed curtains, the moonlight shone in patchily. It was a lonely, cold-looking place, especially with snow still falling outside.

Wherever they were, this was clearly not the Bloomfield home that Hermione remembered; neither did it resemble any other part of the earlier memory. She then finally noticed strange movement in the middle of the room, far away from them and the adult Death Eaters: A slim hooded figure was kneeling down to touch something that lay in a heap on the floor.

_How much time has passed since?_ She began to panic.

A high-pitched female voice chuckled breathlessly behind her then. The voice was clearly not addressing Hermione of course, but it startled her nonetheless. She turned back hesitantly to the tall, dark-haired witch, who was still leaning casually against the wall, chewing on the tips of her black manicured fingernails. Bellatrix Lestrange's resemblance to a love-stricken high school girl, watching her crush playing on the football field, was disturbing. The imagery only got worse when she spoke.

_"His barbarity is rather tantalizing, don't you think?"_

Her pitch black eyes glanced sideways at her brother-in-law briefly, who didn't respond. Lucius' eyes were still fastened on the hooded figure in the middle of the room.

Yet a subtle but tangible crease formed on his forehead, as if he were trying very hard to conceal his unease. Bellatrix also noticed that Lucius' lips were pulled tight, as if he were clenching his jaw.

He probably was.

_Nothing to say, hm? _Bellatrix thought out loud, in the way a Legilimens would think out loud: In someone else's head.

_Probably don't know how it happened either, do you?_

Lucius still didn't move a muscle; Bellatrix chuckled softly again. Her husband though, grunted openly.

_"Please don't fall for your nephew,"_ Rodolphus murmured, sounding more jealous than he wanted.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and stopped chewing on her nails to speak, _"I'm just pointing out that he's become surprisingly adept at this suddenly_._ Is that a sin, my love?"_

Rodolphus reacted indignantly, _"Incest runs deep in your family, you kno—"_

_"You can rest assured," _Bellatrix interjected before he could continue with his ridiculous claim,_ "Unlike my youngest sister, I'm not interested in gawky blonde gits."_

_"How sweet of you,"_ Lucius riposted before Rodolphus could, his voice a surprise to both, _"Though I must say that Narcissa has the better deal beyond doubt, especially compared to the lumbering hulk you tied the knot with."_

_"Oh, so _now_ you're listening?"_ Bellatrix laughed sarcastically, and then noticing that the Dark Lord was glancing at them, she lowered her voice and nudged Rodolphus before he could snap back at Lucius, _"Don't, Rody."_

Lucius continued to act oblivious; he'd noticed the Dark Lord watching them long ago.

He also made a mental note that Bellatrix had called his wife her _youngest_ sister. She might have disowned Andromeda Tonks like the rest of the Black family, but old habits still died hard.

The black-haired witch's sudden timidness made Hermione conscious of the quiet being sitting on the far right of the Death Eaters. You'd wonder how anyone could miss the Dark Lord of all men, but the superior wizard was capable of concealing his presence from those unaware.

Rodolphus too glanced at his master and closed his half-opened mouth unwillingly. Even Lucius Malfoy's insults were not worth a Cruciatus curse from the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldermort, hooded and sitting on a tall marble seat, blended in so well with his cold, dark and lonely surroundings. It sent Hermione the chills when she finally gathered that they were at the Dark Lord's hideout. She quickly reviewed the badinage between the Death Eaters just now – something had bothered her.

_His barbarity is tantalizing,_ Bellatrix had said. And the witch had turned to Lucius, who seemed tense while ignoring her.

That gesture was what bothered her most.

Turning around, she saw again the slim hooded figure standing above what Hermione now recognized as a young child. She squinted her eyes and saw that the child was no other than Alysia Moody, who seemed conscious, though barely moving. The hooded person standing above her flicked their wand.

_"Wingardium leviosa,"_ he said with great control.

Alysia's arms and legs flung back as her torso went into the air first, and she loudly gasped for air in the sudden rush of movement. During the brief respite as her body stayed afloat in mid-air, she whimpered, but only a little. And then the torture came.

It wasn't the first time.

_"Contorto abussos."_

There was no doubt about it now. That deep bass voice that Hermione was so familiar with, yet sounding so cold and foreign now. Young Draco Malfoy had said the torturous spell with no hesitation or fear. There was neither wrath nor passion in his words. Just, perfect certainty.

Blood drained from Hermione's face and her lips quivered as she struggled to speak.

_What did I miss?_

She couldn't vocalize her shock.

_How were you performing this horrendous spell so confidently?_

If Hermione had asked him, Draco wouldn't know what to say. _Contorto abussos_ wasn't one of the three Forbidden Curses, but it was just as gruesome as the Cruciatus curse. Draco could verify that, having experienced it himself when he was captured trying to save Blaise a few months ago. The only reason it wasn't forbidden was because the Ministry needed legal interrogation spells that were still 'efficient'. It has been a huge controversy in the wizarding world for a long time.

Alysia was screaming, screaming with every fiber within her as her limbs were contorted into impossible angles. Both Draco and Hermione cringed; it so perversely reminded them of Blaise Zabini's legs dangling in mid-air only the day before at Saint Mungo's.

And Hermione recognized a cycle of revenge: One that began six years ago with Alysia's abduction, and one that was continuing well into the present. She felt that sick sense of dread and fear that she felt the night before. The older Draco glanced at Hermione next to him restlessly. He saw the way she clenched her fists, and only then noticed that he was clenching his own too, so tightly that his nails had left imprints on his palms. He wondered what she was thinking as he silently made comparisons between his best friend and the child his younger self was torturing.

There had been healers to save Blaise, a fully-grown man, at Saint Mungo's last night. Who was there to save 10-year-old Alysia Moody six years ago?

_And what did I do to protect her back then?_

Nothing.

And not only nothing.

Nothing would have been better.

Hermione was flustered. She had spent all of last night trying to place Draco in her own memory as she lay in bed, trying to convince herself that his actions were understandable. She had begun to see Draco as a victim, but nothing about the scene before her suggested such a possibility. She found herself scrolling through her mind again:

Malfoy, who had eagerly ridiculed her throughout her school years for being a muggle-born and a bookworm.

The same boy she was Head Prefects with, and, in his late teens, still incapable of passing a day without taunting her.

He was an old classmate, whom she found again by fate in their adult lives, and somewhere in between, began addressing intimately as Draco, and he her Hermione. It was the part that frustrated her most, because her memory of him was most fragmented then - the Draco Malfoy that she had loved. What happened then?

But she knew nonetheless, that he had loved her enough to let her go, and never once forgot her in the two years they were apart. He was the one who had forcefully pulled her out of her sluggish cycle of despair, yet he had done it with such empathy and tenderness... He wasn't breaking through the walls she'd built around her anymore. She was letting him in.

He had such a temper, but so did she, and yet his honesty didn't inflame her. Instead it was soothing, in such a way that she would find herself being honest with him too.

And still, he'd seem so distant at times, cold even, yet he'd also speak so hotly, with such candour that it moved her. And she knew— Hermione knew, that under the indifferent façade, Draco Malfoy was a man who was intensely feeling, almost to a perilous degree.

That was why she couldn't place this impassive 17-year-old Draco Malfoy in that picture. It frightened her what could be boiling underneath that cold mask, because she knew so much about the man that hid beneath. And yet she still knew so little about him.

_How could he cause so much pain with a straight face?_

She could see him now, because young Draco's hood had fallen back and revealed his expressionless face. Alysia's eyes rolled back into her head, and he finally withdrew his wand.

The child fell to the floor with a sickening crack, no longer having the reflexes nor the will to protect herself from falling. Lying there, the most she could do was pant and gasp. To stay alive. To curl up as much as she could without screaming in pain. To believe the illusion that she could protect herself.

Young Draco raised his wand again. There was no mercy.

_"Crucio."_

Alysia suddenly jerked her body violently, smacking her own head into the marble floor. She screamed and thrashed until her feeble voice cracked, her spine arching back painfully.

Nothing made sense, not even to Draco. Even with the hard facts coming back to him, he remembered nothing about how he felt after the slaughter at the Bloomfield home. It surprised him, because only some years before Draco was sure he had been able to relate to his younger self. When had he changed then?

Apparently Bellatrix was in doubt too.

_"I can't say I'm sure how this happened," _she spoke absently to no one in particular, though she was still mindful enough not to speak loudly, in case she disturbed the Dark Lord.

Alysia lost her voice and suddenly passed out without warning. Her body had shut down from the pain, and she dropped to the floor again. The fact that she had stayed conscious all this time was a miracle itself. None of the adult Death Eaters leaning against the wall even flinched at the pitiful sight_._

_"At least he stopped feeling worthless pity for the half-blood child," _Rodolphus said. And then sourly, he added, _"Can't believe M'Lord was willing to give him another chance."_

Bitterness defined Rodolphus Lestrange, even when there was nothing to be bitter about.

Lucius continued to keep his silence. He was watching his son steadily. The older Draco wondered if his father was being cautious. He could almost see the gears turning in Lucius' twisted mind: _Should I say anything before the Dark Lord compliments him? –No, no, no... I should probably watch a little longer, just in case he fails at the last minute._

It was all so twisted.

Nobody, not a single soul in the room, seemed to feel remorse or pity for the defenseless child. Hermione thought she'd go insane.

_I'm watching... All I'm doing is watching!_

_I can't do this!_

Draco closed his eyes. He'd never be able to wish it all away. If only he could remember how he'd felt; any sign that he hadn't lost his humanity would be fine. But what would be the meaning of remorse if he'd continued the torture?

There was a long silence as young Draco slowly lowered his wand.

_"He's doing well for a boy who's only operating on some vague ideal,"_ Bellatrix whispered under her breath, _"Are you sure he doesn't know the child?"_

Lucius faked a cough, causing Bellatrix to raise an eyebrow in wonder. The haughty man was suddenly willing to speak.

_"We've taught the boy well," _he spoke of him and his wife, _"Motivation for vengeance runs deep." _

Rodolphus immediately began laughing mockingly, and Bellatrix simpered softly as well. As if to challenge them, Lucius raised a questioning eyebrow.

_"Deeper than you know,"_ both Lestranges said at the same time.

Young Draco was now putting away his wand. Alysia lay stock-still on the cold marble floor, not moving anymore. Lucius now looked confused.

_"You'll see,"_ Rodolphus said as he patted his brother-in-law's shoulder condescendingly. He nodded towards his wife, who was pushing off the wall now. The clicking of her heels against the marble floor rang across the room as she approached her nephew.

_"Continue, Draco," _Bellatrix said as soon as she was standing next to him, looking down at the injured child, _"This girl has to be incapacitated before the end of the night."_

Young Draco didn't even glance at her.

_"It's technically morning already, Aunt Bella,"_ he said.

Like his face, there was no emotion in his words.

Bellatrix was secretly hoping he'd say something rebellious, like "I think she's hurt enough, Aunt Bella." He was rebellious indeed, but it wasn't the response she was expecting. The vain witch frowned indignantly and looked up at the clock on the far wall. It was 2:30 A.M. Morning indeed.

_Technicalities, bah! The excuses of a coward._

_"Are you going to continue or not?"_ she questioned as soon as she turned back to face him, irritated at how obstinate he was. Draco's conduct at the muggle's home was a clear failure, and yet something must have clicked in him, because he became unbelievably efficient at his job once they returned to the Dark Lord's side. She still didn't understand how though.

Feeling the Dark Lord's eyes behind her suddenly, Bellatrix cautiously glanced sideways, though too cautious to turn around. It was rare for Him to be so watchful and quiet during an initiation. Most candidates irritated him by their lack of confidence, courage or ambition – neither of those things Draco had displayed before coming here. It was curious, but Bellatrix knew curiosity was dangerous. She didn't ask.

_"I'm done," _young Draco responded coldly again, breaking her train of thought. He pulled out a handkerchief and elegantly wiped his hands of imaginary dirt.

He was too laconic, too pompous and plainspoken to be speaking to her.

_I said, continue, Drakie, _she spoke in his mind. It always worked, always ticked him off enough to make him do as he was told. Draco still didn't move.

_Pathetic boy. _

Even if his act fooled the Dark Lord, it didn't fool her. He didn't have the will to continue with his cruelty. The reason why the mudblood child didn't die immediately was because he didn't mean it. The reason why the bratty little half-blood witch was still alive was because Draco couldn't bear to kill her. He would be pathetic still even if he showed true brute now with her influence, which she was sure that he would.

He'd only prove to not have any true will of his own.

_Those are two things that distinguished Draco from Evan_, she thought to herself privately.

Two things again, that made Bellatrix miss her boy once more. Who thought that giving her another apprentice to work with would give her purpose again? They were wrong. She didn't care for the younger generation anymore. The Dark Lord needed talent, and she alone was surely enough.

Her conviction was greater especially because Draco Malfoy inherited nothing from her family line, most likely because Narcissa was one of the few Blacks who had a soft spot for _everything. _He was cautious, calculating, much like his father. A _Malfoy_, Bellatrix thought in disdain. She preferred resolve, the brute courage to carry out tasks without overthinking.

So of course she was happier married to _'the hulk,' _Rodolphus. Even the family traitor, Sirius, had more grit than this boy. Those qualities were what truly distinguished the Lestranges and the Blacks from the Malfoys. They distinguished Evan from Draco too.

Still, Bellatrix would do what she could to make Draco successful, because she had promised _Cissy _to do so, and Narcissa Malfoy was the only sister left that she loved still.

So she tried to speak in young Draco's mind again, to control him, to guide him. But when she tried this time, something blocked her. No, it was actively repelling her. She couldn't read anything. His mind was as blank as his face.

_Odd, _she thought to herself, careful not to share too much of her hesitations with him. From an outsider's perspective, the two were simply staring at each other, with Bellatrix's head slightly tilted in puzzlement, and Draco being as impassive as he'd spoken.

And then an icy voice spoke in her head, making her shudder.

_I'd like you to stop prodding._

Her face paled at young Draco's voice in her head. She quickly searched in his face for signs of him speaking out loud, but Draco was still staring at her, poker-faced and lips shut tight. His normally pale grey eyes were shockingly dark, dark with a thirst to disobey her. She struggled to maintain her calm posture.

_Why is his command of his mind suddenly so strong?_

This time, young Draco made a noticeable physical gesture. He tilted his head sideways, just slightly, and continued to pin his eyes on her with an ice-cold intensity. It made her uneasy.

_I said Get Out... Aunt Bella._

She tried to block her thoughts from him, but he was gaining on her, persistently driving her out of his mind.

_You have no business in here, just like you have no business in what I do either._

Her shock was showing on her face now.

_Don't make me say it again._

A cold chuckle came echoing from the far end of the room, making the veteran female Death Eater jump. Everyone turned their heads as well, except young Draco, who stared at Bellatrix for a little longer before he slowly turned his head towards the Dark Lord too.

Lord Voldemort readjusted his relaxed posture on his marble seat and leaned forward. He pulled back his hood slightly and clasped his hands in front of him on his lap, his yellow eyes flickering from under his hood. Even with the unnatural eyes, he looked more human six years ago than he did when he died with Harry. Hermione couldn't look at him straight, and Draco wrapped an arm around her, knowing his appearance was affecting her. The Dark Lord's voice slithered across the room.

_"Intriguing mind-control, boy... Still an unknown, but promising."_

He didn't reveal how much he heard of the inner battle between them, though the truth was even the Dark Lord had a difficult time reading young Draco's mind. It truly was intriguing. He turned his pale yellow eyes slowly towards the two men who were still standing against the wall.

Lucius Malfoy bowed deeply immediately. The Dark Lord smiled a thin smile.

_"I'm glad you continued with his training,"_ he commented thoughtfully, _"I was getting a little concerned with how sloppy his kill was earlier." _His laugh was sinister.

_"But he didn't disappoint..."_

Voldermort then glanced at Bellatrix, who was still looking a little uncomfortable from the shock, and he smiled again, with subtle malice, _"Besides... that was rather entertaining."_

The hot-tempered witch cringed visibly in humiliation and squeezed her wand with both hands as if she were about to snap it in half. But one warning look from the Dark Lord, and she cowered again, looking down at the floor. _It was your incompetence that caused you humiliation, nothing more,_ he said to her privately in her mind. She begged to differ, though she didn't show it.

Lord Voldermort glanced at young Draco then. He noticed the young man's lack of reaction to his very first success at gaining his master's favor. It bothered the elder wizard just slightly, though he didn't show it. _An unknown, indeed, _the Dark Lord thought as he stroked his chin, musing the infinite possibilities of his new servant. He then discerned movement at young Draco's feet: Alysia was stirring from her latest blackout.

Voldermort raised an eyebrow subtly.

_"Lestrange..."_ he called out after a moment of thought.

Both Bellatrix and Rodolphus raise their heads.

_"Rodolphus Lestrange,"_ The Dark Lord clarified lazily, _"I believe it's time to... bring them here."_

Bellatrix's eyes widened when her master waved his hand in the direction of a large set of stairs that led into the dungeons. Rodolphus, on the other hand, bowed and immediately left down the stairs.

_"I know you're awake, child,"_ Lord Voldermort said aloud, straightening in his seat and displaying his apparent superiority.

Young Draco glanced down at Alysia for the first time in a while, and noticed that she had her eyes squinted shut just a little too tightly. What was she trying to do anyway? Fool them into believing she was unconscious and run away when no one was watching? She'd be a fool to believe there was a way out of this. There was no way out for her, like how there was no way out for him. He understood that the moment they returned to the Dark Lord's side, with her still alive. It was the absolute truth, and he understood it perfectly.

Alysia opened her eyes slowly, though she didn't move. She stared up at the Dark Lord with her head still lying on its side on the floor. Her gaze didn't waver even as she stared at the object of every magical child's nightmare. The Dark Lord looked intrigued.

_"Brave girl..."_ he said approvingly, which was rare enough of a gesture to astound everyone in the room, _"I'd be pleased if you'd join us."_

Bellatrix's mouth opened as if she were about to object, except no words escaped her lips. Her eyes grew wide and she began wheezing, like something was choking her.

_"Work for me, child," _the Dark Lord was still saying, _"And I'll promise you. You'll become one of the best witches of this century."_

Hermione looked at the struggling Death Eater and then glanced at the Dark Lord, but the elder wizard showed no sign of noticing Bellatrix's troubles. Instead, he showed Alysia his hand as if he were beckoning. Bellatrix continued to choke. Her eyes were wide open, gaping at her master, who continued to ignore her. There couldn't be anyone else though, logically speaking, who would mute her this way. And yet he was still so nonchalantly recruiting the child.

Alysia's eyes widened at his offer, and then narrowed quickly. The 10-year-old mustered up all her strength to move her lips, even though it caused her great pains to do so.

_"You're... mental... Completely insane! I'll never— Never!" _she spoke hotly through choked tears, _"How dare—"_

Her yelling turned into a hiccup, and she cradled her bruised jaw with her hands as she broke down into tears. The Dark Lord didn't react at first, his hand frozen in front of him, and then, as if it didn't matter to him, he retracted his hand and sat back into his seat, listening to her crying.

_"Not unexpected... though disappointing," _he said. His eyes flared a little when he spoke, and his voice was significantly colder than before. The Dark Lord then turned to Bellatrix, who was no longer choking, and gave her approval with a lazy wave of his hand.

_"Make it short."_

Bellatrix's eyes glittered with delight even as she was still trying to sooth the pain he'd caused her. She bowed curtly, _"I'm grateful for the opportunity, M'Lord."_

The excitement in her voice compelled Alysia to look up from the cold marble floor. The young girl sat up a little and began to frightfully move away from Draco's feet, away from Bellatrix. Draco didn't move.

_She's going to kill her,_ that was his first thought as the clicking of his aunt's heels went pass him to the child now cowering behind him.

But Bellatrix hadn't raised her wand; in fact, she had returned it into her robes. With one hand, Bellatrix grabbed Alysia by her hair. The young girl whimpered very softly before biting down on her bloodied lower lip; she stopped crying immediately. Alysia wasn't going to give the shrew the pleasure of seeing her tears.

_"You've got such a pretty little face, darling,"_ Bellatrix hissed loudly in her ear. Alysia glared back at the tall witch. Bellatrix just smiled back at her, thinking to herself how much effort it must be taking the child to not cry in front of her.

The sound of people stumbling came up the stairs that Rodolphus had disappeared down to earlier. Young Draco still didn't move a muscle. It was difficult to say whether he didn't care or he'd frozen. Lucius, though, looked up from the Dark Lord's side. His head was no longer bowing obediently. Alysia quickly glanced at the stairs too. She thought she heard a voice she knew.

_"What are you looking at, sweetheart?"_

Alysia instinctively turned back to the terrifying witch who just spoke, even though she'd rather not look at her. Their faces were so close, even through tear-blurred eyes, she could count the clumps of mascara on Bellatrix's eyelashes. The tall witch beamed a triumphant smile.

_"You recognize them, don't you?"_

Alysia could no longer hold back her tears.

Yes, she did. She knew that whimper. A piteous whimper she'd never heard from her mother before, yet her sweet voice was so familiar. And she recognized the deep groan from her father when Rodolphus slapped him against the stairs, forcing him to clamber up with his hands and feet. No matter how much pain he'd endured before, Alison Moody had never made such upsetting sounds in front of her.

She watched as her parents were dragged against the cold marble floor and dropped at Bellatrix and Draco's feet. She tried to look down at them from Bellatrix's firm grip, but only managed to see a glimpse of their twitching limbs. Weeks of torture had maimed them badly. Wisps of mist escaped their lips as they gasped for breath. How long had it been since she last saw them, fighting in the fire that swallowed their home whole?

Bellatrix spoke again, bringing Alysia back to the present, "_Why are we doing this to you, you say?_"

She turned back to Bellatrix, a look of disbelief in her face. The Death Eater grinned mischievously.

_"What's there to be surprised about? I can read your mind, darling. You should be grateful to the Dark Lord. I considered killing you without ever letting you know that they're still alive. But he thought that, well, this would be more fun."_

Alysia's lips trembling from anger, though no words escaped them. She struggled to free herself from Bellatrix's grip, but only got more tangled in her clutch. Bellatrix laughed.

_"Yes, dear, be angry! I can't wait to see the look on your uncle's face. Losing you to me... Me! The one whom he stole my boy from..."_

Alysia's anger didn't go away, but now there was incomprehension in her eyes.

_"Oh, he never told you, did he?"_ Bellatrix mocked, even though she knew Mad-Eye Moody would never tell such horror stories to his favorite young niece. _"I presume you've never even heard of Evan? Evan Rosier?"_

Alysia stared back at her, not at all sure where this was leading.

_"No?" _Bellatrix scorned, now seriously angry,_ "He was my cousin, on my mother's side. Barely an adult. My favorite, _my prodigy._ The bravest of the boys we recruited during the first war? You don't know him, do you? Well you would've, if your scoundrel of an uncle didn't take him from me! I WATCHED HIM GROWING UP!" _Her sudden exasperation overwhelmed her.

She remembered her sweet cousin: Smart, light blue eyes and black tousled hair. He had a smirk that they undoubtedly shared, and his skin was as pale as snow. Winter always reminded her of him.

She had already graduated from Hogwarts for a few years when Evan was ready to start school. He was so young, so brilliant. She began teaching him the Dark Arts before he even learned to flick his wand properly.

And then she was 23 when he tortured his first muggle-born at Hogwarts, and got away with it; he was 12, almost 13. She was proud of him, and she told him so through many owls.

He was barely 17 when he dropped out from Hogwarts, and she was 28 when he joined her and became a Death Eater the same year, in the midst of the war. She had been there at his initiation, and she'd never forget that smirk they shared as he so proudly presented her with his Dark Mark, still raw and inflamed.

And then his 18th birthday was coming up. It was coming up and—

_"...And who killed him...?"_

Alysia shook her head very slowly, she didn't know. She was scared to know.

Lucius was speechless. He remembered Rosier well: A brash but very promising boy that often followed Bellatrix around. She never seemed to give him a hoot though, except once, when Lucius caught her praising the boy. He had no idea that she had called him _her_ _prodigy. _Bellatrix never praised Draco, never praised anyone she'd trained. But now Lucius knew it was because she'd secretly thrown her everything into Rosier, everything, even her scarcely expressed love, and the boy was killed by—

_"Alastor Moody!"_ Bellatrix gasped under her raspy breath,_ "He took Evan's life, and I didn't find out until months later! When I was sitting in the courtroom waiting for my trial, as Igor Karkaroff, that bastard, spilled his guts!"_

_"I was there..."_ she continued wheezingly. Both her hands had unknowingly moved downwards to the helpless child's throat, choking her. Bellatrix herself was panting with zeal.

_"I remember, the room was spinning when Crouch so cockily announced to us that Evan was— was_—" she couldn't say it. She refused to say it.

_"And Moody..." _she gasped as she continued,_ "That creeeep! He was complaining that my boy took his eye with him, but SO WHAT?" _Her voice was cracking, _"Compared to his whole life ahead of him, none of it mattered! He was so talented, so cruel and utterly true to his instinct! He was so promising, so _prepared,_ and that bastard took THE BOY I LOV—"_

Bellatrix's pupils were so wide now as she stopped mid-sentence, even at a close distance Alysia couldn't register her dark irises. The flustered witch stopped herself just in time from spilling her heart out. Her hands loosened around Alysia's neck just a little, allowing the child to gulp in what little air she could. It wasn't insanity that had her discombobulated though. Bellatrix knew exactly how to give hope before snatching it away from them, forever.

_"But now... now I have you," _she said softly, squeezing around Alysia's neck again, smiling as she watched the child's eyes go wide, _"And vengeance is mine."_


	35. Draco's Pensieve: Young Death Eater

******Author's Note:** Massive apologies to readers for the long hiatus! Explanation will come at the end of the chapter. And now without further ado—

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-five: Young Death Eater**

* * *

Alysia Moody tried to pry off the tight grip around her throat futilely, screaming for her parents only to hear a gargling sound escape her lips. The jarring taste of blood choked her to tears and unearthly lights began to swirl around her. She thought she heard her parents calling her name. She thought she saw neon colored butterflies in the air. Her consciousness was quickly slipping. And just when she about gave up, an overwhelming rush of oxygen surged through her, as if she were suddenly free. She _was_ free. And she was falling.

The back of her head smacked against the hard marble floor.

The world was spinning again, and not because of a lack of oxygen now, but because her head was still pounding from the impact. She might have cracked her skull, she thought, but only after she'd come to and dared to open her eyes finally. Bellatrix Lestrange had released her, she realized. There was no respite to think why though, as the Death Eater grabbed her by the collar again and tore off the back of her dress to expose her bare skin. Alysia had no fight left in her to resist. The spiteful woman dropped her foot onto the girl's back too, digging the heel of her combat boot in until the child released a muffled cry of pain.

Such humiliation, and yet Alysia could only think about how cold the frosty marble floor felt through the flimsy fabric of her dress. It was torture against her bruised stomach and bloodied cheeks. Something was screaming inside her head to run. To be strong. _To just GET UP. Get up and go. Run, baby. RUN! _She thought that it sounded like her mother's voice, but she could not bear to move a muscle any longer. Lying on the floor now, Alysia could see her barely conscious parents through her half opened eyelids, immobile as she was on the floor. Her feeble breath was raspy against her lips; each gasp throbbed against her throat. She wished that the damned witch would just get it over with. Just kill her already. Let it end.

Reading the child's thoughts, Bellatrix broke into a fit of laughter.

_"You thought I was actually going to kill you?"_ she howled through hysterical tears, as if the idea had never crossed her schizophrenic mind.

And then, with a fittingly bipolar switch, she went quiet and added solemnly._ "You're so naïve, child. That one-eyed scumbag can't have it that easy."_

Alysia didn't understand how her death could possibly be easy on Uncle Tor—

"Uncle Tor!"

It was just any other sunny afternoon a few years ago, when Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody—or for her, Uncle Tor—appeared in her family's backyard without notice.

"You shouldn't be playing out here," he had said with his usual scorn, barely pausing to greet his young niece first before reprimanding her. Alysia stopped mid-embrace and grimaced, an expression that would have resembled him more if not for his bizarre glass eye.

"But daddy said it's safe here. You put up the protective charm with him, didn't you?"

So suppose it wasn't really any other sunny afternoon. Suppose Death Eaters had already broken out of Azkaban and were roaming free, hungry to hurt veteran Aurors involved in the last war and anyone related to them.

"And what do I always say?" Mad-Eye rebuked, pinching her cheek. Alysia made an impudent face, mouthing his favorite phrase at him as he said it out loud to her in return. "Yes, young woman, c_onstant vigilance!_ Don't come running to me like that. What if I'm an impostor?"

But Mad-Eye's give away made the young girl laugh. "You're the only person to ever call me a young woman, uncle. Besides, even with Polyjuice potion, they'd need to steal your glass eye to pass off as you."

This was before Barty Crouch Jr. had kidnapped the Auror to impersonate him at Hogwarts, and an impostor of her invincible uncle had seemed ridiculous to Alysia back then. She held up the book she'd been reading for him to see.

_Making Drafts and Potions, _it said.

Mad-Eye raised an eyebrow as he took the thick hardcover from her small hands. Flipping through the pages confirmed his suspicions that the book was quite beyond his niece's age.

"Ally... six-year-olds don't usually read their parents' old school books."

"I'm eight," Alysia corrected him quickly, but he dismissed the trivial difference with a wave.

"I was fairly certain that they don't teaching something as advanced as Polyjuice Potion in a beginner's book," he said with that same suspicious frown locked between his eyebrows, unable to find the pages on Polyjuice ingredients. "And might I add... that it is not that difficult to get your hands on glass eyes these days in Knockturn Alley," and he rolled his own glass eye upwards to study her face, which was followed by the skeptical comment, "...or pose as eight-year-olds."

Alysia giggled at that.

"They can't fake the weird blue glow!"

"_Weird_, you say?"

She ignored her uncle's offense. "And they can't pose as me, unless they're my size," she reasoned from what she just learnt in the book. "So I'd have to be another child, or a house-elf." She counted the possibilities on her fingers. "Or a dwarf—Do you have dwarf enemies, Uncle Tor?"

A smirk secretly crept onto Mad-Eye's lips when his curious young niece looked up at him with wide eye wonder. He wondered briefly if Alysia would be sorted into Gryffindor like her father and himself, or Ravenclaw like her mother for her intelligence. Naturally though, compulsive vigilance was quick to suppress his amusement.

"Child, I have enemies everywhere," he said and cleared his throat, pushing her towards her house. "Now stay indoors and make my life easier."

Alastor Moody had watched over Alysia like she was his own. There would be no revenge more fitting for Bellatrix Lestrange, nothing more devastating, than to kill her in return for losing Evan—

An eye for an eye, right?

But Bellatrix only said again.

"_It's too easy."_

There was no malice. She was speaking from a simple truth that she'd learned many years since Evan's death: Memories of the dead fade in time. Her fondness for the boy was as strong as it had been, her resentment towards Moody fresh, but for all the pride she still felt for Evan Rosier, Bellatrix couldn't quite remember his handsome face anymore. His endearing brazenness and sarcasm had become barely a fickle of her imagination, the details impossible to recall.

Draco would've found a rare moment of empathy with Bellatrix if he could read the thoughts of a memory. Up until this trip through memory lane, his late father had become an idea, an intangible being he'd never be able to go back and understand, and our memories are often kinder than reality.

But she wasn't going to give Mad-Eye the chance of beautifying his niece like that. She wasn't going to let him turn it all into a distant memory, safely tucked away in the past. The Death Eater was determined to leave the tough Auror in a purgatory of pain and regret, one where he'd live to see the consequences of angering her for the rest of his miserable life.

She chuckled softly, looking down at the terrified child at her feet. Alysia felt a chill run down her back.

_"You're lucky, dear," _the Death Eater whispered; her words laced with sarcasm. _"I consider myself quite the artist..."_

With a deft hand, she flicked her wand, and a winding red line formed in the air above Alysia's bare back. It took a life of its own as it curled and twisted around itself into a ghastly elaborate shape. The young girl flinched from the tingling sensation that rose deep from within her skin, but she couldn't even squirm under Bellatrix's heavy weight on her back.

_"Don't worry," _Bellatrix chuckled again disturbingly,_ "this will hurt only a little."_

Alysia hated herself for it, but she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the sadistic witch was telling the truth.

xxx

_"Draco Malfoy."_

The Dark Lord's voice had such gravity and smoothness, a nauseating pull that Hermione imagined to be dangerously alluring when he was younger and more handsome. Even now, in the memory, it was still bewitching for those who hungered for his respect, and though the older Draco didn't hunger it any longer, his blood ran cold nevertheless when that slithering voice called his name.

He had to remind himself: _This is only a memory. I'm not seventeen anymore. The Dark Lord is dead. Dead and forever gone._

It would've been easier to stay in perspective if his younger self wasn't so hard to relate to. Teenaged Draco only turned slowly to look at his soon-to-be master. How sordidly phenomenal he had been already at compartmentalizing his feelings. His inner feelings were inscrutable from his features. Draco couldn't remember how he managed it; he'd frozen at Lord Voldermort's voice ever since he could remember, and he had remembered his younger self to be inexperienced, mortified, and exceptionally easy to read. He thought it'd taken him years to put up his front.

Nothing about whom he was seeing now, however, resembled the boy that had nearly fainted at the muggle home earlier in the memory. Draco would like to believe it was just a clever façade, a coping mechanism. But he knew too that whatever you pretended to be, you become, and self-preservation didn't excuse his shamelessness.

That thought brought a tinge of embarrassment to his cheeks. He'd seen enough. The macabre silhouette his aunt had etched onto Alysia's once spotless back was surely more brutality than Hermione needed to see to make her moral judgments about him and his company. He was itching to leave.

But Hermione said nothing. Didn't ask to stop. Didn't chastise him already. Draco nervously glanced at the woman he loved. Her silence was almost as disconcerting as his younger self's reticence.

_I guess she meant it when she said she wanted to see things through._

And so they both quietly watched on, as young Draco walked towards the Dark Lord dutifully, ready to receive his initiation. But the young Slytherin didn't get there quite so smoothly. His show of disrespect towards Bellatrix earlier had apparently rubbed her husband the wrong way. As Draco walked pass him, the hulking Death Eater punched the boy in the stomach, hard. Young Draco made just the slightest retching sound from the sudden attack to his abdomen, staggered backwards, and then spun around immediately to his uncle, wand raised and ready to retaliate. He showed the slightest hint of surprise when he found that Rodolphus was already gone from his side. The man hadn't even bothered to give him a second look; he was already at his wife's side.

Only then did young Draco notice that something was wrong with his aunt. Bellatrix was long done with the Moody child, but her chest was heaving laboriously, as if she'd just cast a particularly exhausting spell. Her wand arm was hanging in mid-air. She looked strangely shell-shocked.

Draco noticed that her usual cackle of victory had been missing, too. Did she somehow forget to laugh? This was the triumph she'd been waiting for years. Yet she was so... quiet.

When Rodolphus asked her what was wrong, she came to suddenly, and quickly shrugged him off.

The message was clear: Bellatrix Lestrange needed sympathy from no one, not even her husband. He knew better than to push further.

Taking her dismissal as a signal, Rodolphus threw Alysia's incapacitated parents over his shoulders and turned towards the stairs to the basement dungeons. _"You take the child,"_ he instructed simply. Not once did he look back.

It was up to his wife now.

It was always up to her.

Young Draco stared absently at the couple, as Bellatrix finally picked up the unconscious child and followed suit. Blood trickled off Alysia's sides and stained Bellatrix's long, thick dress, leaving a sordid trail of red stain on the floor. Young Draco wondered if he was hallucinating. The child's soft-looking skin seemed to still quiver in agony—but wasn't she dead? She must be. He felt something falter inside him, something that couldn't digest the depressing combination of his dispirited aunt and the scarred child, that reminded him of another very recent moment he'd felt this way, and that something dislodged in his throat. He tried to suppress it, fast—

_"DRACO."_

Lucius' piercing glare was suddenly right in his face. Looking up, young Draco realized that his father had moved to his side without him noticing, and the Dark Lord's seemingly intrigued stare from across the room quickly came into focus.

What a mistake to make when it was almost over.

Before he'd let himself ruminate on the Moody child again, young Draco nodded and walked pass his father, moving towards the Dark Lord. His stride was calculated. Hurried, but graceful, betraying no hint of his earlier unease. Just an apologetic urgency, nothing more.

The Dark Lord didn't show his impatience either. Not yet, anyway. He did raise an eyebrow in amusement, however, at Draco's sudden promptness. No sooner did the young Slytherin arrive before Him, the boy was already raising his left arm from underneath his robes, unbuttoning the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt and rolling it up.

_Presumptuous,_ Voldemort snickered privately to himself. He made no gesture to begin. Sliding deeper into his marble throne and straightening his spine against the back, the Dark Lord studied his newest recruit's face with new found curiosity, his hand idly stroking Nagini's smooth scaly head on his lap. He pondered loudly in his mind whether the boy was worthy.

Lucius heard his master's thoughts and lowered his eyes to the floor subtly. Everything from here on hung on Dark Lord's conclusions, but the silent anticipation was unbearable. As far as he was concerned, his shameless son was positively trying to get them both killed by reacting to Rodolphus' petty provocation earlier. Lucius had an admittedly horrid temper, so much so that he'd compiled a mental rulebook of things he shouldn't react to in public, and the Lestranges were definitely on his list.

_Rule Number 3: "Ignore The Bumbling Hulk. Laugh Off His Hostility."_

Now, Lucius was not particularly good at following his own advice. But in case you were curious, Rule Number 1 was_ "Do Not Cross The Wife"_ and Number 2 was_ "Pretend My Lord Does Not Intentionally Broadcast His Inner Thoughts."_

As of now, Lucius was trying his best not to cringe even as a familiarly pungent smell began to fill the room, suggesting that servants had brought in a cauldron of specially brewed tattoo ink for the initiation.

He couldn't help but vividly recall his own initiation from almost three decades ago. Not many Death Eaters would look back to that particular moment with fondness, even if it had made them proud. The process was painful, and young Draco wouldn't be the first to cower at the sight of the potion, if he had. The boy only closed his eyes coolly.

But Lord Voldemort recognized feinted calmness when he saw it, and his opinion of Draco briefly leaned towards the negative. He hadn't forgotten, though, that the boy had the surprising gall to challenge his aunt's Legilimency earlier. The Dark Lord admitted to himself that Bellatrix had not known humility in a long time, and it was rather pleasing to see a young recruit finally overpowering his most adept servant, albeit in just one instance.

The room was suddenly filled with the most prominent Death Eaters, apparating into existence in twos and threes. It seemed that the young Malfoy heir's initiation had been the chief gossip for months. Not too surprising, considering how it was common knowledge that the Dark Lord would only bother to personally initiate a new recruit if He intended for them to join His innermost ranks - the Dark Alliance. The rest were mere foot soldiers in His eyes.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix had returned too, young Draco surmised from the footsteps that came up from the basement. He wondered briefly where the Moodys were taken, but intervened his inner voice before it could start asking what would happen to them now.

The Dark Lord finally spoke.

_"You have demonstrated strength and worth tonight, young Malfoy..."_

The watching crowd went silent immediately. Only then did young Draco open his eyes, though he did not meet Lord Voldermort's pale yellow gaze just yet.

_"Honoring Death Eater traditions, I shall grant you the Dark Mark as proof of your allegiance..." _The ancient wizard's voice trailed away into Parseltongue as he dipped his wand into the viscous liquid in the bubbling cauldron. Through his lowered eyes, young Draco saw the forbidding solution slowly enveloping the Dark Lord's wand.

_"Are you ready?"_

The question seemed to have come out of nowhere within the illegible serpentine tongue his master-to-be spoke, but young Draco took his time to calmly look up and meet Lord Voldemort's fixed gaze. Neither fear nor admiration showed in the boy's stony grey eyes, only a vacant stare that conveyed nothing_—_no life, no fire_. _The longer Draco took to respond, the more the elder wizard contemplated the insane possibility that the boy would decline.

It would be a first.

Lucius Malfoy clenched his jaws very subtly, careful not to make a noticeable sound despite his growing anxiety. The tension swept across the hall, with even Nagini sinking into silence at Voldemort's feet. Young Draco's lips finally moved.

_"I am, My Lord."_

There was no doubt in his voice.

Lucius let slip a sigh of relief before he could quite hold it in. Satisfied enough, the Dark Lord smiled and flicked his wand in movements reminiscent to the ones Bellatrix had made earlier, over Alysia's bare back.

_"MORTEMSCHARA!"_

Releasing a dreadful glow across the room, the viscous liquid shot from Voldemort's wand, deep into Draco's skin and sealed their contract for good.

xxx

_"How was it, Lucius? How is our son—Draco, does it sting?"_

The initiation scene had dissolved. They were at the Malfoy Manor now.

Narcissa pulled young Draco into a flustered embrace before they had quite made it through the front entrance. The older Draco smiled a small smile, remembering how her over-the-top maternal protectiveness hadn't seemed as endearing back then. As expectedly, his younger self cut her off with a wave of his hand.

_"Mum, I'm fine,"_ young Draco said tersely.

Narcissa didn't let up, encouraging again, _"At least take off your coat, hun." _She took Draco gently by the shoulder and swept a wedge of snow off his soaked outer cloak, onto the floor.

_"Will you show your mother what you got today?"_

_"Cissy,"_ Lucius interrupted, clearly annoyed by her obvious avoidance to call the Dark Mark by its name. _"It's not like he's just got a new broom from Diagon Alley or something, for Merlin's sake." _He closed the front door behind him with a slam and urged their son into the house, allowing the boy to escape his wife grip and slip pass her into the corridor._ "Just let the boy be."_

Narcissa's soft motherly features were quick to snap into the death glare that Lucius hated so much. _"You were twenty-five when you bawled your eyes out after YOUR initiation, Lui. Would you've preferred if I'd left you alone back then?"_

How Lucius Malfoy would allow anyone, even his wife, to chastise him so thoroughly was a mystery. Draco was sure this was one of the only times he'd seen his father actually blush.

_"Now, woman..."_ Lucius began. Despite his slow, calm speech, impatience was bleeding from the way he addressed her. _"You make him sound like some sort of victim, even though he'd been so brilliant at—"_

She waved him off before she had to hear the gory details. Narcissa had opted out of being present at Draco's initiation for a good reason.

_"YOU make him sound like a happy volunteer," _she returned, pointing an accusatory finger in his face, _"while if I remembered correctly, YOU were the one to force him into this."_

_"That is entirely unfair!" _her husband now protested with his arms in the air.

Young Draco began to quietly move away from his parents while they were still not paying attention to him.

_"And I really don't want to bring this up," _Lucius could be heard raving, meaning that he did want to bring it up,_ "but even that hulk noticed that Draco's been seventeen for a long time. You knew that He's wanted our son since June—"_

_"And still eight years younger than you were back then, no less!" _Narcissa screamed back with matching hysteria, which was no doubt a Black family legacy. Anyone can see her resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange now.

Even as Hermione and Draco turned the corner with younger Draco, they could still hear her, _"You could've made up an excuse for him!"_

_"And what excuse could this be?" _Lucius' voice cracked.

_"Told him our son was too much of a coward if you had to."_

"_How could I POSSIBLY say something so shameful?"_

_"Even Bella was against it—"_

_"Your _dear sister_ was just looking down on our boy, darling."_

_"Don't patronize me, Lucius Malfoy. Thanks to your little request, we have another Death Eater in the family now, and he's become even more withdrawn into his own little world!"_

There was something awfully intriguing for Hermione to realize how much Narcissa Malfoy had abhorred the idea of Draco becoming a Death Eater from the start, considering her public image.

_"There is absolutely nothing wrong with Draco learning Legilimency and Occulmency from your sister,"_ Lucius was saying now._ "He isn't a child anymore—"_

_"So he could become one of you," _his wife spat words like they were poison.

_"They're important self-defense—" _Lucius defended, only to be cut off again.

_"Yes! From the likes of you! And don't you dare tell me that it wasn't the main reason why you learned them too. So that pure-blood-wannabe won't hear your thoughts. And now Draco's thoughts! You and your Death Eater friends might fool everyone else into thinking that you adore that crook unconditionally, but you don't foo—"_

Lucius' blow on her face came so suddenly, Narcissa might have missed it if not for the pain. The younger Draco stopped in his tracks at the sharp sound and turned around at the end of the corridor to see what happened too.

The slap across his mother's cheek left a gash of blood that was quickly turning into a hideous bruise. Narcissa had dropped quite a bomb of her own though. Calling Lord Voldemort a "pure-blood-wannabe" was a blasphemy, only second to calling him a "mudblood." Hermione was fully disturbed too by the underlying racism that didn't even spare Lord Voldermort. Lucius Malfoy was expectedly incredulous, shouting raving threats at his wife for her audacious irreverence.

Yet Narcissa only stared back at him with a fierce, tearful glare, refusing to apologize. Her deep blue eyes reflected an inner strength that the older Draco knew even the cruel Dark Lord had respected in the years to come. For the youngest daughter of the Black family never became a Death Eater officially, even though the Dark Lord had extended his invitation to her after Lucius' initiation. Narcissa had explained her allegiance to Him in simple terms back then: Lucius' allegiance was her allegiance. If He had Lucius' heart, He had hers too. And then she politely, but firmly, refused to have ink drawn on any part of her immaculate porcelain skin. That was all.

She hid no secrets behind Occulmency, so the Dark Lord took her word for it and has never questioned it since. Not until Lucius Malfoy passed away.

Back in the memory, the Malfoy couple of over twenty years stood facing each other, fuming silently. It felt like a long while until Lucius' tense shoulders finally slumped in defeat. For all his anger issues, the proud man couldn't fault her for that motherly determination that defined her being. Narcissa knew that her husband loved her that much. He rarely said it out loud though.

He rarely apologized too.

_"I'm sorry," _Lucius could be heard saying, down the corridor from where young Draco was. _"Love, I didn't meant to hit you so hard, I just... we just... Could-have-been's won't help us, you see."_

His wife looked like she wanted to argue otherwise, but her lips only trembled briefly before she pursed them and turned her stinging cheek away. In a painfully soft voice, she answered, no longer looking at Lucius in the eye.

_"Say that to our son."_

The older Draco and Hermione couldn't hear Lucius' reply if he had one, nor could they see whether Lucius looked up to seek for his son. Young Draco had gone up the stairs and closed the door to his room behind him. Absently, the teenager sat down on the edge of his bed, making no gesture to remove his cloak or his boots. Water from the melting snow slowly soaked the thick carpet at his feet. If he had to break down and cry, this would seem to be the appropriate time.

It wasn't exactly a scene the older Draco wanted Hermione to see, nor did he quite want to relive it now. He might have blocked out the memory from his own mind, but the pensieve surely hadn't.

Gently, he touched Hermione's shoulder to gesture that it was time to go, but Hermione made no gesture to move. Draco had to admit that he never quite understood her insistence on returning to the pensieve again, especially after the many traumatizing revelations surrounding his initiation. But her focus was solely on the memory unfolding before them right now, and there was an intensity there that he didn't dare to disturb. Her silence intrigued him. Terrified him, too. She couldn't pull her eyes away from his younger self, and neither could he, from her.

Hermione didn't understand. There was no purgation. No catharsis. The teenaged boy's hands were still tightly clutched together in his lap, and he continued to stare emptily into the roaring fireplace, but he showed neither fear nor agitation, like he was both deep in thought and thinking nothing. It was as if he were truly emotionally stunned.

She didn't buy it.

Draco couldn't have been calm. Only a little over a week after this evening in the memory, when Draco had returned to Hogwarts for his last term in school, Hermione had discovered his Dark Mark inadvertently. He was furious then. Absolutely livid. That kind of emotion shouldn't take some nosey Head Girl to bring out of him so many days later. Something was missing.

Something must've happened between now and then.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, the younger Draco suddenly stood up and approached the fireplace. At first, he looked to be reaching for the coal poker, but the teenager surprised them when he reached onto the mantlepiece for a porcelain pot. It was filled with green dust.

With the resolve of a single-minded soul, young Draco threw the Floo Powder into the flames.

And then, with irreconcilable impassiveness the boy muttered, _"Take me out of here."_

_"Anywhere."_

xxx

The older Draco was aghast. He had no recollection of this new development. As the green blaze engulfed them, however, he just knew. He knew that they were about to open a can of worms.

Young Draco practically crashed through the fireplace of a pub diner he landed in, but nobody seemed sober enough to notice the just barely underage boy. Standing up, he discreetly moved through the loud drunks and skimpily dressed women, heading towards the exit. When he laid his hand on the door handle, however, a man came out of nowhere and shoved him aside.

_"You're blocking the bloody closet,"_ the middle-aged man slurred.

Young Draco raised a miffed eyebrow at the rude drunkard and the 'bloody closet' he so urgently needed to get to. Apparently he was looking for his broomstick.

_"Come on," _a gaudily dressed woman came into view, groaning impatiently as she moved in front of Draco. _"It's not like you can ride that now," _she said derisively to her drunken male company.

Her inebriated eyes swept across the handsome face she'd just pushed pass, and they narrowed in a suspicious daze, but Draco just ignored her. Trying to the exit again, he moved past her, but the brunette lightly pushed him back into the pub.

Apparently she had said something to him earlier, because she said,_ "Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you deaf, boy?"_

That was when the man straightened up from the closet and grabbed hold of his girlfriend with a grunt.

"Are _you a paedophile or what?" _he said to her.

The woman in his arms looked incredulous.

_"Excuse me?"_

_"I said,"_ the boyfriend repeated with intoxicated confidence as he dragged a broomstick out of the closet. _"Are you into young boys?"_

He was about to finish some crude comment about not satisfying her in bed, but the woman had enough. To his foolish surprise, she slapped him in the face and stormed out of the door. Her man cursed loudly after her, leaving the pub too. As the door swung back to shut, he turned his head back to shout some obscenity at young Draco again, but the boy wasn't paying attention. Draco's eyes were at his feet, where the broomsticks had cascaded out of the closet with the man's departure, scattering all over the floor.

Someone that sounded like the pub owner shouted angrily from across the room, and Draco reflexively bent down, picking up a slightly beat up Comet 410. It was not a brand Draco and his wealthy family would buy, but a popular broomstick in those years nonetheless. For a moment there, the usually overindulged teenager looked as if he were going to clean up the mess, but something else sparked in his eyes.

It was the same heedless determination that he had shown at his fireplace earlier. A zombie-like blank stare with a purpose. Straightening up with the Comet still in hand, young Draco pushed the exit door open once more. The wind was chilly and it was snowing slightly, but he didn't seem to care. As soon as the door closed and blocked out the voice that was angrily shouting at him from behind, Draco mounted the broomstick, and, without a second thought, bolted into the darkness of the winter night sky.

* * *

**Author's Notes, 3 November 2012:** **Cliff-hanger! **I know, sorry, just wanted to get something out there for you guys, before I finish editing the last part of this memory sequence. It has been a long time since I've updated too, and I owe you an explanation:

My life made a number of significant turns in the past year and a half, including a live-in job that left me emotionally stagnant. It was hard to write about feelings, let alone those of Draco and Hermione. I've quit now though, and I am back to writing, hoping that my experiences would only make it better. The next chapter is proving to be cathartic for me. I'll be back soon with it!

Until then, please review, and thanks for reading :)

love, M.


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